&t)c  iUbrarp 

of  tljc 

WLnibcvxitp  of  i^ortfj  Carolina 


The 

Oscar  William  Blacknall  Collection 

Presented  by 

Shields  Mallette  Blacknall 


37  3.1& 


JAN  I 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


1 0002436749 


This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 

d?eE          RET 

S£E 

JAN* 

&  1999 

Fo,             >13 

Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hil 


http://archive.org/details/fagotsfromcampfidupr 


<9 


£ 


FAGOTS 


FROM  THE 


CAMP  FIRE. 


BY  "  THE  NEWSPAPER  MAN." 


Uouvi      J 


WASHINGTON,  D.  C: 
EMILY  THORNTON  CHARLES  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS. 

1881. 


«?'  "  :•»• 


>  <♦»•* 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1SS1, 

By  L.  J.  DuPRE, 

In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Library,  Univ.  of 


INTRODUCTION. 

BY 

EMILY  THORNTON  CHARLES. 

{Emily  Hawthorne.') 

In  presenting  a  new  book  to  the  public,  it  is  not  necessary  that  the 
reasons  therefor  should  be  set  forth  in  a  long  introduction  or  a 
tedious  explanation.  It  is  appropriate,  however,  that  as  the  pub- 
lisher of  this  unique  volume,  I  point  out  its  strangely  original 
features,  which  impelled  me  to  take  an  interest  in  its  success  and 
commend  it  to  the  rank  and  file  of  our  army  of  brave  defenders, 
as  well  as  to  those  who  wore  the  gray.  Many  books  have  been 
written  since  the  war,  illustrative  of  battles,  teeming  with  glowing 
descriptions,  and  claiming  glorious  victories  won  by  mighty  generals, 
as  in  the  history  of  the  campaigns  written  of  or  given  by  Grant, 
Sherman,  Johnston,  and  others.  Most  of  these  volumes  have 
been  biographical,  rather  than  historical.  Of  those  last  emanat- 
ing from  the  South,  that  of  Hon.  Alex.  H.  Stephens  is,  perhaps, 
the  most  just  and  unprejudiced.  It  gives  expression  to  the  views 
of  a  statesman,  thinker,  and  scholar.  It  is  therefore  on  a  high  plane, 
and  may  not,  as  it  should,  be  thoroughly  understood  by  the  masses. 

"  Fagots  from  the  Camp  Fire  "  is  exceptional  in  its  style  and  scope. 
Its  graphic  delineation  of  the  coarsest  phases  of  every-day  life ;  its 
portrayal  of  most  thrilling  incidents  within  the  experience  of  soldiers 
and  people  of  the  South ;  how  they  loved  and  hated,  starved  and 
died ;  and  the  tender  pathos  which  marks  many  pages,  although  told 
in  the  rude  language  of  the  uneducated,  yet  bear  that  "wondrous 
touch  of  nature  which  makes  the  whole  world  kin." 

While  leaders  of  opposing  armies  may  not  acquiesce  in  all  theories 
propounded  in  "Fagots  from  the  Camp  Fire,"  the  common  people, 
and  especially  soldiers  who  participated  in  these  campaigns,  will 
agree  that  these  extraordinary  narratives  are  as  nearly  literally  true 
as  it  is  possible  to  make  them,  after  the  lapse  of  fifteen  years. 

That  "truth  is  stranger  than  fiction,"  is  often  illustrated  in  these 
pages.  The  chief  of  scouts,  who  figures  so  conspicuously,  holds  a  paper 
signed  by  General  J.  B.  Hill,  Provost  Marshal-General  of  the  Confeder- 


K 

o 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

ate  Army,  and  endorsed  "Approved  "  by  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston, 
now  a  Member  of  Congress  from  Virginia,  which  states  that  Captain 
***  *  ******?  of  Company  B,  7th  Texas  Regiment,  Granberry's  Bri- 
gade, served  as  a  scout  in  the  campaign  of  Georgia,  and  that  he  acquit- 
ted himself  with  great  skill,  courage,  and  adroitness.  Thus  the  absolute 
accuracy  of  the  "Captain's"  statements  is  attested.  The  distinctive 
features,  therefore,  of  this  publication,  are  that  it  gives  an  insight  into 
modes  of  life  in  the  Gulf  States  and  in  Tennessee,  which  have  never 
before  been  portrayed ;  that  the  wild  adventures  and  desperate  deeds 
of  Southern  scouts  are  authentic  incidents  and  true  to  the  life  ;  and 
that  it  is  the  only  book  published  which,  while  reciting  such  adventures, 
and  depicting  such  scenes,  is  written,  from  a  Union  standpoint. 
If  the  author  at  times  advances  theories  which  may  not  be  approved, 
it  must  be  remembered  that  these  are  one  man's  opinions  in  relation 
to  subjects  about  which  so  few  think  alike.  It  must  not  be  forgotten 
that  a  truthful  and  just  picture  of  the  country,  people,  and  times  could 
not  have  been  given  if  the  rudest,  most  ludicrous  stories  told  had  been 
omitted. 

Having,  as  the  editor  of  the  World  and  Soldier,  at  Washing- 
ton, been  the  recipient  of  thousands  of  letters  within  the  past  few 
months,  from  veteran  soldiers  of  the  Union  ;  knowing  how  eagerly  the 
"boys  in  blue"  read  every  scrap  of  war  history,  and  having  received, 
also,  many  tributes  from  Confederate  ex-soldiers  in  praise  of  the  sol- 
dier's paper,  although  it  advocates  the  interests  and  tells  of  the 
deeds  of  their  former  foes,  I  earnestly  believe  that  the  time  has  come 
when  dissension  should  be  buried  in  the  grave  of  oblivion,  and  that 
those  who  wore  the  blue  should  clasp  hands  with  those  who  wore  the 
gray— 

For  both  have  suffered  and  both  have  lost, 
And  victory  won  was  at  fearful  cost. 

Therefore,  commending  this  book  to  the  public,  we  shall  follow  it, 
in  a  few  weeks,  with  "The  Soldier's  Scrap-Book,"  a  volume  of  cam- 
paign stories  for  the  rank  and  file,  in  which  many  of  the  war  incidents 
related  by  common  soldiers  will  appear,  with  a  collection  of  battle, 
decoration,  and  memorial  poems.  No  one  can  conscientiously  con- 
duct a  newspaper  in  the  interest  of  soldiers  without  a  desire  to 
benefit  and  immortalize  those  who  so  bravely  endured  danger  and 
privation,  suffering  and  death.  Such,  at  least,  has  been  my  experi- 
ence ;  and — 

My  thought  keeps  guard  with  funeral  tread, 

O'er  silent  bivouacs  of  the  dead; 

O'er  fields  where  friends  and  foes  have  bled  ; 

O'er  hospital  and  prison  bed ; 

O'er  plains  where  death  his  phalanx  led ; 

My  mind  is  as  a  lettered  tome, 

In  which  is  writ,  they  ne'er  came  home. 


PREFACE. 


I  do  not  tell  of  great  battles,  or  Generals,  or  Presidents,  or  Kings, 
and  therefore,  do  not  write  history.  I  only  define  the  woes,  triumphs, 
modes  of  thinking,  living,  fighting,  and  dying  of  scouts  and  common 
soldiers.  I  tell  of  wild  adventures,  hideous  deaths,  and  marvelous 
escapes.  I  recite  terrible  incidents,  others  ludicrous,  and  others  most 
pitiful;  and  if  a  narrative  be  rude  in  expression,  significance,  or  morals, 
it  is  because,  if  more  tasteful,  it  would  not  be  truthful. 

Mankind  recks  more  of  Thermopylae,  with  its  handful  of  heroes, 
than  of  all  the  fields  of  filthy  carnage  on  which  Persians  fell  and 
Greeks  triumphed.  The  Alamo,  with  its  one  hundred  and  sixty-five 
immortal  defenders,  leaving  no  survivors,  will  be  the  subject  of  song 
and  story  when  Arbela,  Cannae,  and  Austerlitz  are  forgotten. 

I  cannot  help  thinking,  therefore,  that  with  such  themes,  and  when 
I  tell,  too,  of  the  woes  of  women,  and  of  vices  that  sprang  from  war, 
and  then  of  the  negro  and  his  relations  to  victors  and  vanquished, 
that  this  book  will  excite  interest.  This  will  hardly  be  lessened  when, 
because  of  my  apprehension  of  his  virtues  and  character,  I  have 
chosen,  without  his  consent,  to  dedicate  this  modest  volume  to  Colo- 
nel W.  W.  Dudley,  the  maimed  veteran  whose  devotion  to  the 
interests  and  fame  of  Union  soldiers  is  only  equaled  by  his  generous 
estimate  of  the  virtues  of  those  who  starved  and  fought  for  the  hapless 

Confederacy. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Scenes  of  Adventures. — Unionism  in  East  Tennessee. — How  Lincoln  was  Esteemed. — 
The  First  Blood  Spilled. — Heroism  of  Women 13 

CHAPTER  II. 

Our  First  Expedition. — The  March. — Bushwhackers. — Very  like  Assassination. — Too 
Much  Corn  Whiskey. — A  Love  Scene. — Increasing  Danger. — Involuntary  Hos- 
pitality.— Spratling's  Ire,  and  Baptism  Extraordinary. — Bushwhackers  Foiled. — 
The  Fury  of  a  Woman 17 

CHAPTER  III, 

A  Narrow  Escape. — A  Very  Cold  Bath. — Gorgeous  Scenery. — Colder  Still. — A 
Newspaper  Man  Spins  a  Yarn. — A  Little  Retrospection 27 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Newspaper  Man  Tells  of  His  Escape  from  Burnside. — Compulsory  Sermon- 
izing.— "Tristram  Shandy." — A  Solemn  and  Terrible  Indictment. — The  Good 
that  Came  of  It. — Descent  of  the  Mountain. — Hunger  and  Roast  Hog. — Plans 
for  the  Future 31 

CHAPTER  V. 

Patrolling  the  "Neutral  Ground." — "Mountain  Dew." — A  Ghastly  Spectacle. The — 
Tree  of  Death. — Bushwhackers  and  Great  Fright. — Successful  Expedition. — 
Cowardice  Punished. — Mamie  Hughes. — Day  Dreams. — Southern  Men  and 
Women  as  affected  by  the  War. — Negro  Slaves  and  Southern  Women. — 
Southern  Planters. — Mamie's  Home  and  Negro  Slavery 36 


io  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Fascinating  Deserter  and  Gay  Widow. — An  Accommodating  Negro. — The 
Capture. — Unearthing  a  Deserter. — "Ef  this  'ere  Umbaril  would  shoot." — A 
Corruptible  Juvenile. — A  Woman  who  loved  Whiskey,  and  how  it  mollified 
Her 44 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Soldierly  Courage. — Another  Deserter. — A  Mountain  Beauty. — A  Dying  Soldier. — 
"He  took  up  his  Bed  and  Walked." — Spratling  falls  in  Love. — Ash-Cakes. — 
Ellison   Escapes 49 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
The  Underground  Railway. — A  Desperate  Adventure. — Secession  in  Kentucky  and 
Tennessee. — In  a   Bushwhackers'   Den. — An  Heroic  Woman. — The  Catastro- 
phe.— A  Graveyard  Scene. — The  Ghost. — A  "  Notiss." — A  Woman's  Eloquence 
and  Matchless  Patriotism. — A  Monument  to  her  Fame 55 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Conservatism. — Bell  and  Douglas. — Andrew  Johnson. — "Rebels"  and  "Bush- 
whackers."— Mamie  Hughes  and  the  Bushwhacker 64 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  Fat  and  Enthusiastic  Widow. — General  Sherman  makes  an  Heroic  Speech  and 
buys  a  Turkey. — The  Pedagogue  moralizes. — Terrible  Condition  of  East  Ten- 
nessee.— Effects  of  the  War  on  the  South. — Demagogues. — Landon  C.  Haines' 
Father 67 

CHAPTER  XL 

Within  the  Federal  Lines. — Friendly  Negroes. — Pursued  by  Federal  Cavalry. — An 
Unequal  Race  for  Life. — Fighting,  Freezing,  and  Feasting. — Cold  Water  Bap- 
tism.— Exhaustion. — An  Imposing  Spectacle. — A  Friendly  Proposition. — In 
Search  of  Comfort. — Baked  "'Possum  and  Taters." — Welcome  Repose. — Poor 
Whites. — Elisha  Short's  Opinions. — The  Sun  Rises. — Arduous  Tasks. — General 
Joseph  E.  Johnston  and  the  Scouts. — A  Scout's  Mode  of  Life. — The  General 
listens  to  a  Love  Story 71 

t 

CHAPTER  XII. 
The  Pedagogue  Talks  of  Mamie  Hughes. — Physical  Wonders  of  East  Tennessee. — 
Sequatchie  Valley. — An  Ancient  Ocean. — Mamie  Philosophizes. — The  Negro  as 
a  Soldier 81 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Spratling  and  Bessie  Starnes. — The  Pedagogue  corrects  a  Chapter  in  the  History  of 
the  War. — Who  killed  General  John  H.  Morgan? — How  he  was  Esteemed. — 
The  Camp  Fire. — The  Newspaper  Man  and  the  Pedagogue. — A  Political  Dis- 
cussion.— Absurdties  of  Revolution. — The  Two  Nations  and  the  Confederate 
War-Song 86 


CONTENTS.  ii 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Bessie  Starnes. — Spratling's  Story. — His  Enormous   Strength  saves  his  Life. — Two 
Prisoners. — Two  Dead  Scouts. — Spratling's  Confession 95 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Around  the  Camp  Fire. — The  Newspaper  Man  Again. — "  Put  me  down  among  the 
Dead." — The  Newspaper  Man  as  a  Resurrectionist. — Bottled  up. — Every  Man 
his  own  Ghost 100 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
The    Newspaper  Man  spins  another  Yarn. — A  Porcine  Steed. — Sim  Sneed  in  the 
Role  of  John  Gilpin. — He  disperses  a  Battery. — A  Dead  Dog. — "  The  Divel 
Sure." — Denouement 105 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Spratling  makes  a  Descent  upon  the  Bushwhackers. — An  Extraordinay  Meeting. — 
Spratling  suddenly  loses  his  Appetite. — At  Headquarters. — Camp  Life. — Woman 
in  War  and  Politics. — Why  this  Book  was  written. — Camp  Fire  Morals. — An 
Illustration. — A  Ludicrous  and  Pitiful  Story. — An  Old  Woman  Eloquent. — "The 
Foremostest  Sin  that  God  Almighty  will  go  about  Forgiving." 109 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Death  of  Major  General  Van  Dorn. — A  True  Story  and  Sad  Enough. — The  Northern 
Version 118 

CHAPTER.  XIX. 
The  Song  that  destroyed  the  Confederacy  and  dissolved  its  Annies. — Most  Remark- 
able Military  Expedition  of  which  Human  History  Tells  or  Genius  ever  Conceived 
or  Executed. — The  Memorable  Campaign  of  Moral  Effects. — Its  Painful  and 
Pitiful  Results. — An  Apparition. — The  Great  Explosion  in  Knoxville. — Death 
of  Bill  Carter 123 

CHAPTER.  XX. 

The  Newspaper  Man  Tells  of  Recent  Designations  of  the  Route  of  De  Soto. — His 

Apothecary's  Scales  and  Nest  of  Horseshoes. — The  Monk's  Rosary. — Governor 

Gilmer's  Castilian  Dagger  Handle. — Outline   of  De  Soto's   Route  Defined. — 

His  Burial  Place 133 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Physical  and  Climatic  Charms  of  East  Tennessee. — The  Captain  and  Spratling  Pur- 
sued by  Cavalry. — A  Bloody  Day's  Work. — Spratling  Visits  Bessie  Starnes. — 
Wounded. — The  Conflagration  and  Flight 142 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  Captain  Pursued  as  a  Horse-Thief. — How  he  Escaped  very  Narrowly. — A 
Brave  Boy. — Deposition  of  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston. — How  he  Bade  us 
Adieu. — Woes  of  Richmond. — The  Famed  Cemetery  of  Virginia's  Capital. — 
The  Poor  Child.— Its  Burial  Place 152 


12  CONTENTS.. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Woes  of  the  People. — How  Endured. — An  Ancient  Georgia  Village. — Curious  Story 
about  Governor  Gilmer  and  William  H.  Crawford. — Slave  Life  Fifty  Years  Ago- 
— Joseph  Henry  Lumpkin. — How  African  Slavery  became  African  Servitude" 
— Providential  Preparation  for  Freedom 162 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Negro  as  an  Inseparable  Adjunct  of  Southern  Industry. — "  Missis,  de  Yanks 
is  acomin'." — The  Schoolmaster  on  the  Character  and  Conduct  of  the  Negro. — 
"Yaller-Gal   Angels." " 167 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Newspaper  Life. — Journalism  under  Difficulties. — A  Journalistic  Repast. — Jamaica 
Rum 172 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Lieutenant  Hughes  Recites  his  Adventures  in  Southern  Missouri. — Wonders  of  the 
Lowlands. — Reckless  Freaks  of  Dame  Fortune. — A  Rebel  Negro  and  Narrow 
Escape — Two  Unnamed  Confederate  Heroes 175 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
General  Grant  Talks    Somewhat. — Sam    McCown. — The  Frightful    Demon    of  the 
"Inland  Sea."— Bickerstaft's  Memorable  Ride. — Patlanders  of  Pinch... 183 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
An  Extraordinary   Escape. — We  Take   Water. — A  Voice  in  the  Wilderness. — Was 
it  a  Spirit? — A  True  Man  and  Heroic  Wife 188 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
The  Hughes  Farmhouse  assailed  by  Federal  Soldiers. — Heroism  of  Bessie  Starnes. — 
Conclusion 193 


CHAPTER  I. 


Scenes  of  Adventures. — Unionism  in  East  Tennessee. — How  Lincoln  was  Esteemed. — ■ 
The  First  Blood  Spilled. — Heroism  of  Women. 

After  Grant's  victory  and  Bragg's  defeat,  at  Missionary  Ridge,  in 
November,  1863,  and  after  the  repulse  of  Hooker's  Corps  at  Ringgold 
Gap  by  Cleburne's  Division,  Federal  and  Confederate  armies  went 
into  winter  quarters — the  former  at  Chattanooga ;  the  latter,  at 
Dalton,  Georgia.  Detachments  of  Federal  forces  occupied  positions, 
at  short  intervals,  from  Knoxville  to  Chattanooga,  and  thence  to 
Bridgeport  on  the  Tennessee  River.  Small  bodies  of  Union  soldiers 
held  each  railway  station  between  Bridgeport  and  Nashville'.  Over 
this  road  supplies  and  re-enforcements  for  Sherman's  army  of  invasion 
were  drawn,  and  an  army  was  required  for  its  protection.  General 
Joseph  E.  Johnston,  commanding  the  Confederate  forces,  had  his 
headquarters  at  Dalton,  thirty-eight  miles  from  Chattanooga,  drawing 
supplies  over  the  railway  from  Atlanta.  General  Pat  Cleburne's  Divis- 
ion was  encamped  along  the  brow  of  Tunnel  Hill,  eight  or  ten  miles 
north  of  Dalton.  In  February,  this  cantonment  was  transferred  to  a 
point  east  of  Dalton  on  the  Spring  Place  Road.  Our  cavalry  held  the 
line  from  Kinton's  Farm,  nine  miles,  to  Varnell's  station,  on  the 
railway  from  Dalton  to  Cleveland,  and  thence  along  the  hills  to  the 
Stone  Church,  just  south  of  Ringgold  Gap,  thence  to  Villanow 
and  to  the  boundary  line  of  Alabama.  The  railway  distance  from 
Dalton  to  Chattanooga  is  thirty-eight  miles.  Between  these  points 
occurred  many  of  the  strange  and  extraordinary  incidents  and  adven- 
tures of  which  subsequent  pages  will  tell. 

The  area  of  country  between  the  two  armies  within  which  scouts 
operated,  having  the  average  width  of  fifteen  miles,  extended  from 
Knoxville,  in  East  Tennessee,  about  one  hundred  and  eighty  miles, 
to  Huntsville,  Alabama.  Generals  Sherman  and  Johnston  both 
employed  large  numbers  of  scouts,  but  collisions  between  these  were 


i4  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

neither  as  frequent  nor  dangerous  as  between  Southern  scouts  and 
citizens  of  the  country,  the  greater  number  of  whom  were  devoted  to 
the  cause  for  which  Sherman  fought.  The  domestic  enemies  of  the 
South  were  the  more  dangerous,  not  only  because  more  blood-thirsty 
and  murderous  than  soldiers,  but  because  it  was  quite  impossible  to  dis- 
tinguish these  bushwhackers,  as  they  were  termed  in  the  partisan  jargon 
of  the  period,  from  unoffending  country  clodhoppers. 

We  contemplated  the  most  innocent-looking  and  rudely  clad  country 
bumpkins  with  keen  suspicion.  They  recognized  us  at  a  glance,  and 
hied  away,  as  soon  as  our  backs  were  turned,  to  tell  our  enemies  of 
the  course  we  had  taken  and  of  our  probable  resting  place  for  the 
night.  After  asking  directions  from  such  persons,  which  we  never 
followed,  we  were  accustomed  to  listen  for  the  firing  of  signal  guns,  of 
which  we  comprehended  the  import  as  well  as  they  to  whose  ears  they 
were  addressed.  With  the  armed  bushwhacker  we  knew  how  to  deal, 
but  were  helpless  in  the  presence  of  those  who  seemed  wholly  intent 
upon  the  perfection  of  crops  and  cultivation  of  fields  and  gardens. 
We  soon  learned  that  most  innocent-looking  farmers  underwent  sud- 
den and  violent  transformations  of  conduct  and  character.  Rustiest, 
most  illiterate  and  rudely  clad  plowmen  became  even  demoniacal  in 
blood-thirstiness,  and  in  this  were  wholly  unlike  our  Northern  public 
enemies.  From  hollow  trees,  or  from  beneath  ledges  of  stones  on 
mountain-sides  hard -by  the  farm-house,  concealed  breech-loaders  were 
drawn,  and  assassins'  bullets  sent  many  Confederate  soldiers  to  un- 
timely graves. 

Women  and  children  were  as  false  to  the  South  and  as  true  to  the 
Union  as  fathers,  brothers,  and  sons,  and  woe  to  the  Confederate 
soldier,  recognized  as  such,  who  followed  paths  into  which  he  was  guided 
by  these  loyalists.  Many  an  unnamed  grave  tells  where  unknown  and 
forgotten  scouts  heedlessly  confided  in  statements  made  by  matronly 
dames  or  blushing  maidens.  Often  were  brave  men  lured  into  modest 
cottages  by  proffered  food  temptingly  spread  before  the  weary  and 
hungry.  The  feast  was  one  of  death.  While  hunger  and  thirst  were 
appeased,  and  repose  cunningly  invited,  an  unseen  member  of  the 
household  sped  away  to  mountain  fastnesses  to  carry  tidings  of  the 
scout's  folly  to  the  bushwhackers'  strong-hold.  The  messenger  re- 
turned with  enough  resolute  men  to  render  escape  impossible.  Matron, 
maid,  or  boy  hastened  from  every  mountaineer's  home  to  tell  bush- 
whackers the  route  of  every  body  of  Confederate  scouts  that  traversed 
the  so-called  neutral  ground  between  the  two  great  armies  of  the  North 
and  South.  Such  was  the  condition  of  affairs  and  such  the  conduct 
of  the  masses  of  the  people,  especially  in  Eastern  Tennessee.  The 
people  were  poor.  They  read  the  Bible  and  Brownlow's  Whig.  They 
listened  to  Andrew  Johnson,  if  Democrats;  to  Brownlow  and  Nelson, 
if  Whigs ;  and  thus,  as  political  thinkers,  were  led,  almost  en  masse, 
into  thorough  Unionism.  The  strongest  passion  of  these  illiterate 
descendents  of  heroes  of  King's  Mountain  and  Cowpens  impelled  them 
to  kill.     "  Death  to  enemies  of  the  Union  !"  was  the  legend  inscribed 


IPN 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  15 

upon  their  hearts  and  memories.  The  bushwhackers'  definition  of 
war  was  written  accurately  in  tears  and  blood,  and  flame  and  famine 
by  General  Sherman.  It  was  simple  destructiveness.  It  meant  to 
kill. 

At  this  period  President  Lincoln  had  won  little  popular  sympathy 
or  affection  among  Southern  loyalists.  His  potency  came  later  and 
was  greatest  after  his  death.  Then  Eastern  Tennessee  and  Northern 
Georgia  celebrated  his  apotheosis,  awarding  to  his  name  and  memory 
profounder  respect  and  more  honest  reverence  than  was  conceded  by 
those  who  were  near  enough  the  veritable  demi-god  to  discover  human 
frailties. 

These  facts  are  defined  that  Northern  people  may  confess  some 
inadequate  appreciation  of  the  sturdy,  honest  devotion  of  those  men 
and  women  whose  sacrifices  in  behalf  of  the  Union  were  a  thousand- 
fold greater  than  of  men  who  bought  substitutes,  paid  taxes,  speculated 
in  shoddy  and  bonds,  and  celebrated  the  Fourth  of  July  and  Black 
Friday. 

East  Tennessee  loyalists  believed  that  the  enemies  of  the  Union 
deserved  death,  and  death  it  was,  and  this  internecine  war,  waged  by 
one  against  another  household,  or  by  members  of  the  same  family, 
arrayed  against  one  another,  was  the  most  relentless,  bloody,  and 
ruinous  that  ever  desolated  hearths  and  homes. 

Rarely,  very  rarely,  was  it  a  "rebel's"  good  fortune  to  encounter 
in  this  region  devotees  at  the  shrine  of  "  Confederatism."  Now  and 
then,  as  these  pages  will  show,  this  "Switzerland  of  America"  pro- 
duced a  secessionist,  as  earnest,  devout,  and  active  as  were  Union  men 
like  Crutchfield  and  Brownlow.  It  may  not  be  improper  to  suggest 
that  the  first  blood  spilled  in  the  great  conflict  was  not,  as  is  commonly 
supposed,  at  Alexandria,  Virginia,  when  the  zouave  fell,  but  in  Chat- 
tanooga, when  "Bill"  Crutchfield,  afterwards,  when  Reconstruction 
progressed,  a  Member  of  Congress,  was  stricken  down  in  his  own  hotel 
in  Chattanooga.  Mr.  Jefferson  Davis,  having  resigned  his  seat  in  the 
United  States  Senate,  was  on  his  way  to  Jackson,  Mississippi.  His 
first  speech  in  behalf  of  the  "new  nation"  was  made  at  Bristol;  his 
second,  at  Chattanooga,  and  in  the  bar-room  of  the  old  hotel,  of  which 
"Bill"  Crutchfield  was  proprietor.  Davis  was  defining  numberless 
wrongs  inflicted  upon  the  South,  and  woes  that  had  befallen  the  coun- 
try in  the  election  of  Lincoln,  when  Crutchfield,  intolerant  as  Davis, 
pronounced  Davis'  statements  false.  One  John  W.  Vaughn,  sheriff 
of  Monroe  County,  afterwards  made  a  brigadier  by  Davis,  instantly, 
in  defence  of  Davis'  wounded  honor,  broke  a  black  bottle,  snatched 
from  the  shelf  of  the  bar-room,  over  Crutchfield's  head.  The  bleed- 
ing, stunned  Crutchfield  was  borne  helpless  and  senseless  from  the 
scene  of  conflict,  shedding  the  first  blood  spilled  in  the  war.  It 
trickled  out  of  East  Tennessee  into  the  mighty  torrent  that  soon  after- 
ward flowed,  steadily  and  sluggishly,  along  the  course  of  Sherman's 
march  to  the  sea. 

The  neutral  ground   contained    few   inhabitants   entertaining  the 


1 6  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

feelings  or  convictions  of  Vaughn,  and  Northern,  encountered  no 
such  dangers  as  Southern,  scouts  surmounted  or  evaded  at  every  step 
in  Eastern  Tennessee  and  Northern  Georgia.  Now  and  then  a  woman 
was  loyal  to  the  cause  of  the  South,  and  the  bravest  and  truest  of  our 
race,  whether  adhering  to  the  Union  or  to  the  Confederacy,  were 
fearless  women  of  the  mountains  and  valleys  between  the  two  armies. 
When  England  and  Scotland  were  at  war,  the  Border  produced  no 
more  illustrious  examples  of  splendid  heroism  or  of  nobility  of  char- 
acter, or  of  fidelity  to  a  cause  espoused,  than  this  mountainous,  rugged 
district  in  which  incidents  occurred  of  which  these  pages  tell.  Some 
Walter  Scott  will  yet  make  posterity  remember,  when  traversing 
Northern  Alabama,  Northern  Georgia,  Western  North  Carolina,  and 
Eastern  Tennessee,  that  a  sort  of  sanctity  overshadows  this  region,  and 
that  it  is  holy  ground,  baptized  in  the  blood  of  a  border  war  more 
deadly  than  that  waged  with  the  rude  weapons  of  a  rude  age  in  glens 
and  mountain  fastnesses  of  Scotland.  For  such  a  story-teller  this 
modest  volume  contains  facts  on  which  fiction  might  build  a  pantheon 
peopled  with  gods  of  heroism  and  patriotism. 


CHAPTER  II. 


Our  First  Expedition. — The  March. — Bushwhackers. — Very  like  Assassination. — Too 
Much  Corn  Whiskey. — A  Love  Scene. — Increasing  Danger. — Involuntary  Hos- 
pitality.— Spratling's  Ire,  and  Baptism  Extraordinary. — Bushwhackers  Foiled. — 
The  Fury  of  a  Woman. 

What  follows  in  this  narrative  is  nothing  more  than  a  plain  recital 
of  facts  drawn  from  memoranda  made  at  the  time.  Written  with  a 
pencil  eighteen  years  ago  these  are  not  always  perfectly  legible,  but 
enough  can  be  deciphered  to  recall  vividly  the  minutest  details  of 
incidents  strongly  impressed  upon  the  memory  of  one  only  eighteen 
years  of  age  when  he  became  a  chief  of  scouts  in  the  army  of  Joseph 
E.  Johnston. 

On  the  day  abvoe  mentioned  Major-General  Pat  Cleburne,  of 
the  most  skillful  and  bravest  of  General  Johnston's  subordinates, 
selected  six  men,  of  whom  I  was  given  charge,  instructing  us  to  make 
the  circuit  of  Sherman's  army.  We  were  to  fix  the  location  of  each 
command,  define  the  force  at  each  point  and  the  strength  of  each 
fortified  position.  We  were  to  go  first  to  Charleston  on  the  Hiwassee 
River  and  learn  what  progress  was  making  in  rebuilding  the  railway 
bridge  burned  there  by  the  retreating  Confederates. 

After  a  toilsome  march  of  thirty  miles,  avoiding  public  highways, 
we  rested  for  the  night  at  Red  Clay,  a  little  village  on  the  boundary 
line  of  Tennessee.  We  dared  not  make  a  fire.  Armed  with  Henry 
rifles  and  Colt's  repeaters  and  having  forty  rounds  of  ammunition  and 
rations  for  five  days,  our  journeying  had  been  toilsome  and  fatiguing. 
Our  conversations  were  conducted  in  an  undertone.  We  moved  even 
cautiously  in  the  thicket  in  which  we  were  concealed,  fearing  that  the 
slightest  unusual  noise  would  attract  the  attention  of  some  drowsy 
Federal  sentinel. 

Surely  one  who  has  never  occupied  such  a  position  or  confronted 
such  dangers  can  never  comprehend  the  emotions  excited    by  our 


iS  FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

suddenly  changed  condition.  For  months  and  years  we  had  consti- 
tuted inseparable  parts  of  a  great  mass  of  armed  men.  We  were 
never  conscious  of  personal  danger.  The  possibility  of  capture  or 
death,  save  in  battle,  never  occurred  to  us.  We  had  never  a  thought 
for  ourselves.  Parts  of  a  vast  machine,  we  lived  and  moved  as  such 
until  personal  identity  was  almost  unrecognized.  But  here  were  six 
men — a  seventh,  a  newspaper  man,  joined  us  at  Charleston — giving 
only  voluntary  obedience  to  one  of  their  number.  We  were  not  only 
removed  from  the  mass  of  which  we  had  become  an  inseparable  part, 
but  thrown,  in  the  midst  of  extraordinary  dangers,  wholly  upon  our 
own  resources  as  men  and  as  individuals.  We  could  not  sleep.  We 
were  in  the  enemy's  lines,  and  when  fatigue  wooed  repose  and  fitfully 
closed  'our  eyes,  we  dreamed  of  spies  dangling  at  ropes'  ends  beneath 
shadows  of  great  oaks  that  stretched  mighty  arms  above  our  resting- 
place. 

Wherever  we  slept  one  or  two  men  always  stood  as  sentinels  until 
we  resumed  our  march.  We  will  never  forget  the  feeling  of  unutter- 
able solitariness  and  hopeless  helplessness  that  possessed  nerves  and 
soul,  and  almost  paralyzed  us  when  we  lay  down  on  the  frozen  hillside 
to  rest  on  the  night  of  December  14,  1863.  We  could  hear  the  dull 
roar  of  innumerable  human  voices  and  footsteps  about  the  camp  fires 
of  Sherman's  countless  legions. 

We  stood  guard  in  turn,  each  serving  four  hours.  After  daylight 
we  dared  "to  have  fire  enough  to  prepare  strong  coffee,  most  grateful 
to  men  who  had  passed  a  bitterly  cold  December  night  upon  the  bare 
earth,  each  covered  by  a  single  blanket. 

At  daylight  we  resumed  our  march,  moving  in  indian  file  along  the 
verge  of  the  mountain  range's  summit.  At  noon  we  approached  the 
Big  Blue  Spring.  One  of  our  number  ascended  a  tree  with  a  field 
glass,  whence  he  scanned  hills  and  valleys  on  every  hand.  We  made 
coffee,  rested  an  hour,  and  marched  towards  Cleveland  where,  at 
nightfall,  we  bivouacked. 

We  could  hear  the  drum-beat  of  the  Federal  garrison  and  ourselves 
next  morning  were  aroused  by  reveille.  We  loitered  two  days  gather- 
ing information  from  the  people  of  the  place  in  reference  to  the 
strength  of  the  garrison  and  examining  for  ourselves  the  earthworks, 
and  marched  to  the  Hiwassee  River  just  below  the  village  of  Charles- 
ton. Here,  as  details  hereafter  given  will  show,  our  small  force  of 
six  men  was  recruited  by  the  accession  of  a  seventh,  a  newspaper  man, 
who  had  escaped  from  Knoxville  when  the  place  was  captured  by 
General  Burnside. 

We  wanted  other  edibles  in  substitution  for  hard-tack  and  bacon. 
It  was  agreed  that  Spratling,  a  fearless,  gigantic  young  soldier,  and  I 
should  apply  at  a  farm-house  fifteen  miles  away,  said  to  have  a  well- 
stocked  larder,  to  buy  such  provisions  as  were  required.  We  had 
learned  that  the  farmer  we  proposed  tb  visit  was  a  peaceful  Union 
man,  but  were  advised  to  be  watchful.  "He  might  betray  us."  We 
reached  his  pretty  cottage  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  ate  at  his  table, 


FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  19 

paying  for  the  privilege.  We  were  not  his  invited  guests,  and  as  such, 
owed  him  nothing.  Spratling  said  that  this  reflection,  ever  afterward, 
gave  him  great  satisfaction.  The  farmer  and  his  ivife  agreed  at  table 
that  they  would  send  a  well-freighted  market  wagon  next  morning  to 
our  camp.  The  wife  was  especially  demonstrative,  suggesting  that  we 
might  have  a  fire  and  occupy  a  small  house  a  few  rods  away  in  a 
corner  of  the  yard.  We  expressed  a  proper  sense  of  gratitude  and 
soon  sought  this  resting  place.  We  built  a  fire,  talked  cheerily  half 
an  hour  to  our  kindly  host,  spread  blankets  before  the  blazing  faggots, 
smoked  our  pipes,  and  then,  bidding  him  good  night,  with  repeated 
assertions  of  gratitude,  rested  on  the  floor. 

But  neither  Spratling  nor  I  slept.  As  soon  as  the  sound  of  Mr. 
McMath's  footsteps  was  inaudible,  Spratling  whispered  : 

"I  mean  to  watch  that  old  coon.  I  think  he  is  playing  falsely, 
and  if  he  seek  to  betray  us,  he  won't  find  Spratling  stupidly  sleeping." 

I  concurred  in  this,  and  we  covered  the  blazing  faggots  in  the  fire- 
place with  ashes.  When  the  flames  were  extinct,  Spratling  and  I, 
lying  on  our  faces,  crept  out  of  the  hut.  One  stood  as  sentinel  while 
the  other  slept  just  outside  the  enclosure  about  the  buildings.  An 
hour  had  hardly  passed  when  Spratling,  then  on  watch,  saw  McMath 
issue  from  his  doorway  with  his  wife.  She  even  followed  him  to  the 
stable,  urging  him  to  ride  "hard  and  fast"  to  the  bushwhackers'  camp, 
not   more,  as  we  learned  afterward,  than  five  miles  away. 

We  now  knew  what  was  coming.  We  discussed  the  propriety  of 
leaving ;  but  Spratling  insisted  that  he  must  await  the  issue. 

"I  would  never  forgive  myself,"  he  said,  "if  I  fled  without  punish- 
ing that  old  scoundrel's  treason  to  pretended  friendship  and  hospitalty. 
If  he  return  alone,  we  will  capture  and  send  him  south.  If  he  come 
with  five  or  a  dozen  bushwhackers,  we  will  stampede  or  seize  their 
horses,  kill  as  many  of  the  enemy  as  possible,  and  take  refuge  in  the 
creek  bottom  which  we  examined  this  afternoon." 

Spratling  and  I  had  slept  two  hours  each,  when  we  heard  the  clatter 
of  coming  hoofs.  We  counted  the  bushwhackers  as  they  entered  the 
gate,  near  which  they  left  their  horses.  The  mistress  of  the  cottage 
met  them  at  the  door.  She  had  been  keeping  watch,  and  would  have 
discovered  our  "change  of  base"  if  we  had  not  crawled  noiselessly, 
lying  on  our  faces,  out  of  the  cabin. 

It  was  nearly  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  we  could  see  that 
some  one  of  the  eight  persons  in  the  house  always  watched  the  cabin 
door.  McMath's  wife  was  now  actively  engaged  going  in  and  out  of 
the  kitchen,  and  soon  breakfast  was  spread.  It  is  needless  to  suggest 
that  Spratling  and  I  were  not  asked  to  share  this  early  matutinal  meal. 
We  saw  the  good,  fat  dame  convey  a  significant  brown  jug,  soon 
eloquent,  as  through  all  the  ages  of  the  world's  history,  of  devilish 
deeds,  into  the  hallway  occupied  by  the  six  bushwhackers.  They 
drank.  It  was  the  last  draught  of  alcohol  that  ever  went  hissing 
down  the  throats  of  more  than  one  of  those  terrible  men,  who  thus 
nerved  themselves  for  bloodv,  murderous  deeds. 


20  FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

Spratling  and  I  had  gone  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  nearer  the  woods, 
and  were  at  a  point  whence  we  could  see  distinctly  every  person  in  the 
hallway.  In  this,  as  stated,  the  breakfast-table  was  spread.  We  were 
now  protected  by  the  palings,  shrubbery,  and  peavines  in  the 
garden  between  us  and  the  house.  The  sun  had  hardly  lighted  up 
with  earliest  rays  the  tree-tops  on  the  highest  hills  when  the  bush- 
whackers, McMath  watching  the  door  of  the  cabin  we  had  vacated, 
sat  about  the  breakfast-table.  Their  guns  were  ranged,  leaning  against 
the  wall,  on  either  side  of  the  broad,  open  hall. 

Our  opportunity  had  come.  We  were  about  to  avenge,  in  advance, 
our  own  contemplated  deaths. 

Three  bushwhackers  sat  on  either  side  of  the  table.  We  crawled 
along  the  palings  till  we  reached  a  point  from  which  only  two  of  the 
enemy  and  Mrs.  McMath,  who  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  with  her 
back  towards  us,  were  visible.  Three  men  in  the  line  of  each  of  our 
shots,  we  leveled  our  rifles.  I  gave  the  word  "fire,"  in  a  hoarse 
whisper.  I  abhorred  the  necessity.  A  cold  tremor  ran  along  my 
nerves.     I  shuddered. 

We  would  have  repeated  the  shots,  but  feared  that  we  might  kill  the 
woman.  Such  were  her  screams  when  her  guests  fell  dead  or 
wounded,  that  her  more  timid,  treacherous  husband  was  wholly  help- 
less. While  he  was  wringing  his  hands  and  running  from  one  fallen 
friend  to  another  and  then  to  the  relief  of  his  suffering  wife,  we 
crossed  the  enclosure,  and  selecting  two  of  the  best  horses  and  lead- 
ing two  each,  rode  away  towards  our  encampment. 

We  were  not  apprehensive  of  pursuit.  McMath  had  asked  and  we 
had  spoken  falsely  as  to  the  distance  and  direction  of  our  camp  and 
knew  that  some  hours  must  elapse  before  he  could  summon  a  force 
that  would  dare  to  follow  us.  He  supposed  we  had  straggled  from  a 
command  only  seven  or  eight  miles  distant,  not  less  than  five  hun- 
dred strong.  While  we  apprehended  little  danger  at  the  hands  of  the 
bushwhackers,  the  facts  would  be  noised  abroad  and  we  could  not 
remain  in  safety  about  Charleston.  We  congratulated  ourselves  on 
the  acquisition  of  just  horses  enough,  fresh  and  strong,  to  mount  my 
footsore  and  weary  men. 

We  had  ridden  three  or  four  miles  before  we  began  to  talk  of  what 
had  happened  and  of  what  we  had  done.  It  was  the  first  killing  that 
either  Spratling  or  I  had  had  ever  perpetrated,  except  in  an  open  field 
and  fair  fight,  and  both  confessed  qualms  of  conscience. 

"How  could  we  help  it  ? "  asked  Spratling.  "If  we  had  not  killed 
them,  they  came  armed  to  kill  us.  If  we  had  fought  them  openly,  we 
would  have  fallen,  and  certainly  by  suicidal  hands.  To  fight  is  to 
kill,  and  this  is  our  business,  and  there  was  no  escaping  the  necessity 
for  methods  we  adopted.  If  our  numbers  had  equalled  theirs,  we 
should  have  resorted,  and  properly,  to  the  same  stratagems.  General 
Sherman  is  right.  War  means  murder,  desolation,  destruction,  and 
death.  We  are  warriors,"  said  Spratling.  "We  are  murderers  and 
horse-thieves,  I  greatly  fear,"  was  my  earnest  answer. 


FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  21 

Spratling  confessed  that  he  did  not  like  it,  that  his  conscience  was 
troubled,  and  that  he  was  almost  sorry,  though  we  had  six  horses, 
that  he  had  not  assented  when  I  proposed  to  leave  the  bushwhacker's 
place  before  his  coadjutors  came.  Hurrying  events  and  impending 
dangers  made  us  forget  everything  but  the  fact  that  our  speedy 
departure  from  Charleston  was  a  matter  of  urgent  necessity. 

We  had  already  spent  two  days  at  Charleston  on  the  Hiwassee 
watching  the  process  of  rebuilding  the  railway  bridge.  Thence  we 
rode  to  Pikeville,  in  the  valley  between  Walden's  Ridge  and  the 
Cumberland  Mountains.  Late  in  the  afternoon  we  came  to  the 
Tennessee  River  five  miles  below  the  little  village,  Decatur.  A  skiff, 
or  dug-out^  was  soon  discovered.  But  while  a  comrade  and  I  had  been 
searching  for  such  a  means  of  crossing,  others  discovered  a  whiskey 
distillery.  They  and  their  canteens,  in  the  absence  of  the  proprietor 
of  the  gum-tree  pipe  through  which  the  alcohol  flowed,  were  soon 
well  filled.  We  crossed  the  river,  concealed  the  dug-out  in  a  thicket 
for  possible  future  use,  and  a  mile  farther  west,  near  a  country  road 
and  the  river  shore,  rested  in  a  dense  wood.  Our  sentinel  stood  near 
the  highway.  Unhappily,  '  his  canteen  was  bursting  with  raw,  corn 
whiskey.  He  drank  too  deeply,  and  when  a  wagon  with  a  dozen 
country  girls  and  boys  occupying  it  came  rattling  over  the  stony  road- 
way, echoing  songs  and  laughter  burdening  the  cold  night  wind  with 
the  delicious  music  of  women's  voices,  our  sentinel  could  not  restrain 
himself.  He  knew  that  the  party  of  revellers  came  from  a  farm-house 
we  had  passed  during  the  day,  and  were  celebrating  a  country  wed- 
ding. Brandishing  his  musket,  he  confronted  the  roysterers,  demand- 
ing instant  surrender.  The  women  were  frightened  beyond  measure. 
Their  screams  drew  us  to  the  spot.  Our  sentinel  was  holding  the  rein 
of  one  of  the  horses  attached  to  the  vehicle,  and  insisting  that  its  occu- 
pants must  come  down  and  surrender.  He  brandished  his  repeater, 
and  when  we  appeared,  the  young  men,  seeing  that  resistance  would 
be  worse  than  idle,  descended  from  the  wagon.  They  were  assured 
that  no  harm  was  intended,  and  that  this  intoxicated  sentinel  and 
others  like  him  need  only  be  appeased. 

What  a  vision  of  beauty  I  beheld  in  the  perfect  face  and  form  of 
one  of  those  mountain  lassies !  The  luminous  splendor  of  her  great, 
lustrous  black  eyes  lighted  up  her  pale,  beautiful  features,  as  I  first 
beheld  her  beneath  the  clear  moonlight  gilding  hills  and  valleys,  with 
matchless  radiance  that  fascinated  me.  Why,  I  could  not  tell,  but 
frightened  as  she  was, — perhaps  because  I  was  only  a  year  or  two  her 
senior, — she  ran  to  my  side  and  seized  the  hand  that  clasped  my  rifle. 
I  looked  into  her  pale,  beautiful  face,  amazed  and  startled  by  her 
charms.  I  had  never  imagined  that  a  woman's  figure,  eyes,  pleading 
face,  limitless  confidence,  and  silent  appeal  for  protection  could  be  so 
eloquent.  The  hot  blood,  when  I  pressed  her  hand,  rushed  to  my 
face.  I  said  to  her,  "You  shall  not  be  harmed,"  and  then  added, 
with  much  hesitation,  "Won't  you  tell  me  your  name,  and  where  do 
you  live?  " 


22  FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

"  O,  yes,"  she  answered,  "my  name  is  Mamie  Hughes.  I  am  here 
visiting  relatives.  My  home  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  Union  army 
in  Georgia,  and  I  can't  get  there  now." 

Here  Mamie  was  suddenly  silent.  She  suspected,  I  thought,  that  I 
was  a  "rebel,"  but  was  doubtful.  I  was  conscious  that  I  could  trust 
her.  Her  wonderful  face  and  eloquent  eyes  had  won  my  confidence, 
if  not  my  heart,  and  I  said  to  her.  in  a  whisper,  "I  am  a  Southerner. 
Say  nothing.     If  you  utter  a  word,  we  seven  will  be  hanged  as  spies." 

At  this  moment  our  boisterous,  half-drunken  sentinel  was  insisting 
that  the  fiddler  should  organize  cotillions  and  that  we  should  dance 
by  moonlight.  Thinking  to  humor  the  fancy  of  my  intoxicated  men 
and  let  the  merry-makers  go  in  good  humor,  I  said  : 

"Yes;  we  will  dance  by  moonlight,  and  these  gentlemen  here  shall 
drink  with  us  and  we  will  part  friends,  regretting  that  we  frightened 
these  beautiful  young  ladies. ' ' 

This  apology  exasperated  the  drunken  sentinel,  who  'drawled  out, 
"Friends!  did  you  say,  Captain?     These  people  are  d d  Yanks." 

"The  rest  of  them  are,  but  I  am  not,"  whispered  Mamie,  pressing 
closely  to  my  side. 

It  was  needless  to  attempt  further  concealment  of  our  character  or 
purposes.  I  stated  to  the  oldest  of  the  East  Tennesseeans  that  we 
were  Kentuckians  on  our  way  to  join  the  Southern  army  and  were 
going  out  by  way  of  Cleveland.  I  said  further  that  our  comrade  was 
only  impelled  by  too  much  whiskey  when  he  arrested  them  and  that  I 
regretted  the  fact  as  did  my  associates. 

There  was  no  response.     The  young  men  were  sullen  and  silent  and 
only   the   pretty   Mamie    beside   me    pressed    my  hand   very  gently. 
Another  girl,  more  fearless  than  the  rest,  said,  laughing: 

"  Oh  !  it  makes  no  difference.  Let  us  make  a  night  of  it  and  dance 
with  these  soldiers.  What  a  jolly  story  it  will  be  to  tell.  We  are 
prisoners  of  war  and  can't  help  ourselves.     Let  us  dance." 

"Surely,"  I  answered,  "no  harm  is  intended,  and  I  would  gladly 
have  those  gentlemen  there  join  ,us.  Such  opportunities  do  not  often 
present  themselves,  and  we  soldiers  must  take  advantage  of  them." 

I  whispered  to  Spratling,  when  the  young  East  Tennesseeans  made 
no  reply  to  my  proposition,  to  see  that  neither  of  them  left  while 
we  danced.  He  stalked  out,  a  very  giant,  into  the  roadway  and 
stood  like  a  massive  statue  of  granite,  his  presence  a  significant 
menace. 

The  fiddler,  half-drunken,  began  his  task.  I  led  in  the  dance  with 
Mamie  Hughes.  She  soon  entered  into  the  spirit  animating  us  and 
forgot  that  we  were  strangers.  I  was  lapped  in  the  joys  of  Elysium. 
I  forgot  the  lapse  and  value  of  time.  I  told  in  whispered,  earnest 
words  the  story  of  my  love,  and  surely  the  pretty,  blushing,  silent 
girl  was  not  displeased. 

Spratling  came  at  last,  while  I  was  looking  into  Mamie's  fathomless 
eyes  and  dreaming  I  knew  not  what,  and  said  to  me : 

"Captain,  it  is  time  we  were  off.      This   place  won't  be  safe  for  us 


FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  23 

after  daylight.  These  prisoners  of  mine  are  furious  and  most  impa- 
tient. They  have  been  plotting  our  destruction.  One  of  them  there, 
I  am  sure,  loves  madly  that  pretty  black-eyed  girl  you  have  been 
dancing  with.  He  would  murder  you  now  if  he  dared.  Our  presence 
here  will  be  reported  to  Yankee  scouts  within  an  hour  and  we  must 
be  off.     Escape  even  now  is  hardly  possible." 

While  the  rest  of  Mamie's  friends  were  clambering  into  the  wagon 
she  told  me  where  her  parents  lived.     I  said  to  her : 

"You  must  not  forget  me,  Mamie.  I  will  surely  see  you  again. 
You  will  not  forget  me  will  you?" 

"Come  and  see  me, ' '  she  answered.  "  I  will  tell  them  at  home  how 
good,  and  brave,  and  true  you  are." 

She  was  in  the  act  of  clambering  over  the  wagon  wheel  into  the 
body,  where  her  friends  were  already  seated,  when  I  caught  her  arm 
and  whispered,  as  I  raised  her  into  the  vehicle,  a  reassertion  of  my 
deathless  love.  I  detected  a  tremor  passing  over  Mamie's  frame. 
She  turned  to  look,  as  I  lifted  my  cap,  into  my  sunburnt  face.  The 
wagon  moved  rapidly  away. 

Kissing  her  hand  she  tossed  the  breath  that  passed  her  rosy  lips,  as 
if  it  had  been  a  sparkling  gem  dissolved  in  morning  mists,  towards  the 
spot  where  I  stood  entranced,  motionless,  and  oblivious  of  everything 
except  the  wondrous  charms  of  the  departing  divinity. 

I  don't  know  how  long  I  might  have  stared  in  the  direction  Mamie 
had  gone  if  Spratling,  the  bravest  and  truest  of  men  and  scouts,  had 
not  said  : 

"Captain,  it  is  time,  if  you  don't  propose  to  follow  that  pretty  girl, 
that  we  were  getting  out  of  this  country.  Within  two  hours  a  squad 
of  cavalry  will  be  here  looking  for  us." 

Within  ten  minutes  we  resumed  our  inarch,  but  not  in  the  direction 
of  the  towns  I  mentioned  to  Mamie's  friends.  On  the  contrary,  we 
moved  westwardly  towards  Walden's  Ridge.  We  had  not  proceeded 
five  miles  when  we  heard  signal  s;uns  in  manv  directions  and  the 
sound  of  horns  used  for  like  purposes  by  the  native  Unionists  or  bush- 
whackers. We  ascended  the  ridge  to  its  summit.  Day  was  dawning 
when  we  looked  down  into  the  long,  deep  valley  below.  Signal  fires 
still  blazed  at  different  points,  and  a  rocket,  making  lights  of  different 
colors,  climbed  through  the  air  far  above  the  ridge  and  exploding 
fifteen  or  twenty  miles  away,  recited  the  story  told  at  headquarters  of 
the  Union  army  by  Mamie's  friends.  '  It  stated,  "  There  are  seven 
spies  within  our  lines."  In  any  event  this  was  the  translation  we  gave 
to  this  sign  in  the  heavens,  as  significant  of  capture  and  death  as  was 
that  of  victory  and  empire  which  appeared  to  Constantine. 
.  Throughout  the  weary  day,  when  we  peered  forth  from  our  hiding 
place,  we  could  discover  bodies  of  horsemen  moving  in  the  valley 
below,  in  all  directions,  in  search  of  the  Confederates  known  to  be  within 
the  Federal  lines.  Using  a  powerful  field  glass  we  defined  during  the  day 
the  route  we  were  to  pursue  during  the  night  that  we  might  cross  the 
valley  in  safety  between  Walden's  Ridge  and  Cumberland  Mountains. 


24  FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

We  descended,  with  darkness,  into  the  valley  and  moved  rapidly 
across  it.  We  reached  the  mountain's  summit  before  day  dawned. 
After  this  toilsome  march,  occupying  the  whole  night,  we  were 
without  food,  fatigued  beyond  measure,  hungry  as  famished  wolves, 
and  in  the  midst  of  relentless  enemies.  We  had  neither  food,  tobacco, 
nor  coffee. 

Our  condition  was  becoming  desperate.  At  two  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  we  found  in  this  sparsely  populated  district  a  modest  little 
log  farm-house.  Stationing  my  men  about  it  to  prevent  the  escape  of 
its  inmates,  I  applied  for  food.  The  mistress  of  the  cabin  refused  to 
sell  anything.  There  was  no  help  for  it.  We  entered  the  cabin,  and 
telling  the  good  dame  that  we  were  starving  and  desperate  and  that 
she  must  give  us  bread  or  her  home  would  be  destroyed,  she  sullenly 
prepared  dinner  of  the  coarsest  food.  Two  men,  that  we  might  not 
be  poisoned,  watched  the  process  of  cooking  it,  and  we  ate  ravenously. 
The  timid  nominal  head  of  the  household  begged  his  wife  to  give  us 
all  we  demanded,  and  soon  intimated  privately  that  he  was  a  devout 
"rebel."  We  knew  he  was  lying,  but  accepted  his  assertions  as  if  we 
deemed  them  true.  We  stated  that  we  were  of  Morgan's  cavalry,  and 
en  route  to  Kentucky  to  bring  out  recruits.  We  made  minute 
inquiries  about  roads  leading  north  to  McMinaville.  He  answered 
truthfully,  as  we  happened  to  know. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  about  to  depart,  we  almost  made  a 
rebel  of  his  red-haired,  hideously  ugly  wife  by  presenting  her  five 
dollars  in  United  States  currency.  She  grinned  so  gleefully  when 
Spratling  gave  her  the  money,  and  drew  so  near  to  express  her  amazed 
gratitude,  that  Spratling,  dreading  a  kiss  from  the  ignorant,  vulgar, 
frightful  creature,  leaped  from  the  doorway.  He  told  me  he  was 
never  "scared  before  in  all  his  life."  She  was  very  thin  and  her 
back  was  bowed,  as  Spratling  described  her,  like  that  of  a  "razor-back 
hog. ' '  Her  frowzy,  red  hair,  unkempt  for  twenty  years,  was  powdered 
with  ashes.  She  wore  two  garments.  The  outer,  made  of  four  yards 
of  dingy  gray  calico,  was  tucked  up  at  the  waist,  exposing  her  red, 
rusty,  sinewy  limbs  almost  to  the  knees. 

She  was  offended  by  Spratling' s  sudden  terror  and  retreat,  and  we 
knew  that  this  Medusa  of  the  mountains,  if  possible,  would  avenge 
the  indignity.  She  began  to  denounce  us.  Her  eloquence  was 
absolutely  wonderful.  Daniel  O'Connell's  traditional  fish  woman 
could  never  have  been  more  voluble  or  coarse  than  this  frightful 
hungry-looking,  red-faced,  red-headed,  and  red-mouthed  angular 
creature.  She  leaped  violently  around  the  great  barrel-churn  in  the 
yard  and  kicked  at  each  of  a  dozen  lazy,  cowardly,  yelping  hounds 
that  lay  about  the  great  receptacle  of  sour  milk.  She  made  and  sold 
butter  to  Federal  soldiers  encamped  in  the  valley,  and  in  neighboring 
villages. 

Spratling  was  noted  for  his  tremendous  strength.  Like  most 
physically  powerful  men,  he  was  exceedingly  good  natured.  But 
it   was   wholly    impossible    to   withstand      shocks    to    one's    temper 


FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  25 

administered  by  this  voluble  termagant.  Spratling  was  first  amazed, 
and  when  she  finally  stood  facing  him,  her  arms  akimbo  and  legs 
extended  as  far  apart  as  the  contracted  calico  would  admit,  and 
poured  forth  a  volley  of  disgusting  epithets,  Spratling  could  no  longer 
contain  himself. 

He  suddenly  seized  the  scrawny,  bony  creature,  and  inverting  her, 
high  in  the  air,  as  suddenly  thrust  her,  head  foremost  into  the  barrel- 
churn  half  full  of  milk.  The  woman's  stockingless  legs  were  twirled 
about  piteously  above  the  top  of  the  churn.  I  was  paralyzed  for  a 
moment.  The  scene  was  painfully  ludicrous.  But  the  woman  was 
drowning.  Convulsive  movements  of  her  red  legs  showed  that  she 
was  in  a  death  struggle.  Even  the  dozen  dogs  stood  up  and  looked 
on  in  mute  astonishment.  To  spare  the  woman's  life  I  suddenly 
tipped  the  churn  over.  Her  clothing  was  rudely  displaced  and  as  the 
milk  spread  over  the  lower  side  of  the  little  enclosure,  and  her  head 
and  shoulders  were  uncovered,  she  crawled  out  backwards. 

Evidently  those  dogs  had  never  witnessed  such  an  exhibition.  As 
the  good  dame  backed  out  of  the  barrel  on  all  fours,  the  dogs  stood 
transfixed  with  astonishment,  staring  a  moment  at  the  unusual  spec- 
tacle, and  then,  howling  piteously,  each  turned  and  fled  in  abject 
terror.  Convulsed  with  laughter,  I  ordered  my  men  to  fall  into  line 
and  march.  Spratling  was  holding  his  sides  and  rolling  over  and 
over  on  the  ground.     The  mountain  groaned  beneath  roars  of  laughter. 

It  was  horrible  and  cruel,  but  no  incident  half  so  ludicrous  was 
ever  witnessed  by  a  squad  of  veterans.  The  good  dame's  senses  were 
hardly  restored  when  we  began  at  last  to  move  rapidly  away.  She 
finally  rubbed  the  grease  out  of  her  eyes  and  began  to  comprehend 
the  ridiculous  aspect  she  had  presented.  She  gathered  up  her  con- 
sciousness, and  pulled  down  her  petticoat  and  began  to  gesticulate 
wildly,  and  pour  forth  an  interminable  vocabulary  of  coarse  epithets. 
She  pursued  us  to  curse  poor  Spratling  who  ran  down  the  declivity 
roaring  like  the  bull  of  Bashan. 

We  traveled  rapidly  perhaps  five  miles  along  the  road  we  had  been 
directed  to  take  leading  to  McMinaville.  The  moon  had  not  risen 
and  total  darkness  enveloped  us.  Leaving  the  highway  we  entered 
the  woods  going  directly  back  towards  the  scene  of  buttermilk  baptism. 
We  moved  as  silently  as  possible  and  had  not  reversed  our  course  half 
an  hour  till  we  heard  the  red-headed  woman's  sharp,  clear  voice 
ringing  out  on  the  cold  night  air.  She  was  urging  a  dozen  bush- 
whackers to  keep  pace  with  her  in  pursuit  of  "infernal  pimps  of  hell 
and  Jeff  Davis."  Her  wild  fury  and  shocking  imprecations  made  us, 
rude  soldiers  as  we  were,  shudder.  The  winds  stood  still  that  they 
might  not  bear  on  their  weary  wings  the  insufferable  burden  of  her 
horrible  oaths.  We  were  even  sickened  by  the  woman's  mad  depravity 
and  infernal  fury.  When  the  echoes  of  her  harsh,  sharp  voice  were 
no  longer  audible,  I  said  to  Spratling:  "Hell  hath  no  fury  like  a 
woman — baptised  in  buttermilk."  Spratling's  suppressed  laughter 
shook   the    tree   against    which   he    rested   his   sturdy  body,  and  we 


26  FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

resumed  our  toilsome  journey  over  shapeless  stones  and  through 
mountain  thickets,  never  resting  through  that  livelong,  weary  night. 
We  marched  by  night  and  rested  during  daytime  until  we  reached 
Stevenson  near  the  Tennnessee  River  on  the  Nashville,  Chattanooga 
and  Memphis  roads.  .    " . 


CHAPTER  III. 


A   Narrow    Escape. — A   Very  Cold    Bath. — Gorgeous    Scenery. — Colder    Still. — A 
Newspaper  Mitn  Spins  a  Yarn. — A  Little  Retrospection. 

A  devoted  rebel  family  at  Stevenson  furnished  supplies  while  we 
were  encamped  in  a  secluded  spot  near  the  village.  We  mixed 
occasionally  with  passengers  on  railway  trains,  from  Memphis  and 
from  Nashville,  meeting  at  this  place.  Spratling  was  a  capital  farmer, 
and  I,  a  plow-boy.  We  wore  the  rude  "butternut"  or  homespun 
goods  of  the  country  and  only  a  pistol  and  knife,  never  visible.  We 
received  northern  newspapers  from  every  quarter  and  carefully  filed 
away  every  paragraph  that  might  be  of  value  to  Generals  Bragg  and 
Johnston.  Wounded  and  sick  soldiers,  in  endless  trains,  now  and 
then  moved  northwardly,  and  interminable  supply  trains,  day  and 
night,  went  south.  We  noted  everything.  From  sick-leave  officers 
awaiting  transportation,  and  from  quartermasters'  and  commissaries' 
agents  we  learned  how  many  they  fed  or  transported  in  many  divisions 
and  corps.  We  made  contracts  to  supply  an  Ohio  brigade  with  eggs 
and  potatoes  which  were  never  executed,  perhaps  because  "bread  and 
butter"  brigades,  and  divisions,  and  corps,  alone,  came  then,  as  now, 
out  of  Ohio. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  December  30,  1S63,  the  good  dame  who 
had  furnished  our  simple  meals  came  to  our  resting  place  to  say  that 
a  little  child  of  a  bushwhacking  neighbor  had  said  that  the  rebel  camp 
on  the  mountain-side  would  be  attacked  that  night  and  its  occupants 
shot  or  hanged.  I  proffered  the  woman  fifty  dollars  in  greenbacks. 
She  refused  to  accept  it;  but  when  I  said,  "You  are  poor,  and  I  am 
paid  by  the  government  and  given  this  money  that  I  may  give  it  to 
such  as  you,"  she  said,  "I  did  not  know  how  1  could  live  when  you 
went  away,  yet  I  came  to  urge  your  immediate  departure.  With  this 
fifty  dollars  and  what  I  have  saved  I  can  feed  and  clothe  myself  and 
children  almost  a   year."      She  kissed   my  hard,  sunburnt  hand,  and 


28  FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

with  tearful  eyes  turned  away.     I   never  saw   her  afterward,    but  no 
braver  or  truer  woman  lives  than  Mrs.  M y-,  of  Stevenson. 

How  bitterly  cold  were  the  last  days  of  December,  1863,  and  the 
first  of  January,  1864,  surviving  soldiers  serving  under  Rosecranz,  and 
Sherman,  and  Johnston,  and  Bragg  will  never  forget.  Early  in  the 
morning  of  the  30th  of  December  we  strapped  our  blankets  on 
our  backs  and  with  three  days'  rations  traversed  the  distance 
between  Stevenson  and  Bridgeport.  We  reached  the  river  just  after 
nightfall.  Fiercely  cold  as  were  winds  and  waves  there  was  no  help 
for  it.  We  must  cross.  There  was  no  security  save  in  placing  the 
river  between  ourselves  and  the  relentless  bushwhackers.  We  could 
find  no  boat,  and  the  swollen  river,  divided  in  its  midst  by  a  long, 
narrow  island,  was  then,  perhaps,  two  miles  wide.  It  seemed,  When 
we  looked  out,  wistfully  and  anxiously  enough,  that  bitterly  cold 
night,  upon  its  moaning,  starlit  waters,  certainly  ten  miles  in  width. 

Of  a  wrecked  boat  on  the  shore  we  constructed  a  raft  capable  of 
conveying  our  blankets,  clothing  and  weapons.  We  swam  beside  it 
down  the  river  to  the  island.  Almost  frozen  when  we  reached  the 
sandy  bank,  we  lifted  the  raft  out  of  the  water,  bore  it  across  the 
island,  launched  it  again,  and  again  drifting  down  and  across  the  river, 
landed  safely,  but  paralyzed  by  cold,  on  the  southern  bank.  Icicles 
clung  to  my  hair  and  beard.  My  teeth  chattered  and  I  felt  that 
numbness  and  drowsiness  slowly  overcoming  me  which  immediately 
precedes  death.  We  rubbed,  one  another  violently  with  blankets  and 
when  thoroughly  dry  and  re-clad  in  woollen  I  never  enjoyed  so  keenly 
the  sense  of  perfect1  youthful  vigor  and  vitality.  I  was  aglow  with 
ecstatic  physical  blessedness.  We  soon  ascended  and  followed  the 
ridge  that  connects  Bridgeport  with  Lookout  Mountain.  We  stood 
upon  the  summit  of  the  precipice  that  overhangs  the  railway  and  the 
Tennessee.  The  railway  track  rests  upon  the  verge  of  the  stream  and 
enormous,  rugged  stones  superimposed  on  one  another  like  those 
of  some  mediaeval  ruin  rise  precipitously  hundreds  of  feet,  and  are 
projected  beyond  the  railway  and  overhang  the  water's  edge.  At 
day-dawn  we  looked  down  from  this  dizzy  height.  A  railway  train 
going  to  Chattanooga  came  roaring  and  shrieking  from  Bridgeport. 
It  seemed  as  we  contemplated  it,  moving  with  tremendous  velocity 
constantly  accelerated  into  the  river.  We  shuddered  involuntarily 
when  it  went  down  out  of  sight  under  the  cliff,  and  seemingly 
headlong  into  the  broad,  boisterous  bosom  of  the  Tennessee.  Then 
ensued  the  silence  of  death.  Great,  projecting  stones  cut  off  sounds 
and  vision,  and  the  sudden  stillness  that  pervaded  mountains,  valleys, 
and  river  was  painful  to  the  last  degree. 

With  a  wild  shriek  of  seemingly  ineffable  delight  the  locomotive, 
its  great,  black  pennon  of  smoke  curved  backward,  rushed  from 
cavernous  depths  below  to  greet  from  the  hill-top  it  ascended,  the 
splendors  of  the  sun  just  rising  on  the  brightest  and  coldest  morning 
that  ever  dawned  upon  the  South. 

In    re-writing  these  memoranda  I  omitted  a  page  to  which  I  now 


FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  29 

recur.  While  we  were  at  the  railway  bridge  which  Federal  soldiers 
were  rebuilding  across  the  Hiwassee  River  at  Charleston  we  encountered 
a  gentleman  who  had  been  now  and  then  in  the  Confederate  States' 
service  as  a  staff  officer,  but  for  several  preceding  months  editing  a 
paper  at  Knoxville.  He  was  well  known  to  us  and  and  at  his  own 
suggestion  became,  temporarily,  one  of  our  number.  He  withstood 
hardships  uncomplainingly  and  whiled  away  tedious  hours  of  compulsory 
idleness  with  stories  he  had  gathered  while  war  raged.  His  purpose 
was  to  reach  Atlanta,  whither  his  newspaper,  when  Burnside,  with 
snowy  locks,  and  side  whiskers,  and  smooth  towering  occiput  came 
down  upon  Knoxville,  had  been  removed.  On  the  night  of  December 
31,  1863,  colder  if  possible  than  the  preceding  night,  we  climbed 
the  summit  of  Lookout  Mountain.  If  the  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  soldiers  then  within  fifty  miles  of  Chattanooga  were  reading 
at  the  same  instant,  the  above  sentence,  they  would  each  whistle  and 
shudder,  and  perhaps  one  hundred  thousand  would  exclaim,  una  voce, 

clapping  their  sinewy  hands,  "  It  was cold  !  "     It's  a  pity,  but  old 

soldiers  will  use  frightful  exclamations.  But  none  have  forgotten  the 
terrors  of  the  night  which  witnessed  the  death  of  1863  and  the  birth 
of  1 864.  Seven  of  us,  with  a  blanket  each,  not  daring  to  build  a  fire  and 
hungry  as  famished  wolves,  spent  that  fearful  night  on  the  topmost 
summit  of  Lookout  Mountain  whereon  some  ancient  fable  tells  that 
Hooker  fought  a  battle  even  among  the  clouds. 

In  the  starlight,  while  looking  for  a  place  protected  against  Northern 
blasts,  a  shallow  cavern  was  discovered.  We  gathered  dry  leaves  and 
made  a  resting  place  within.  And  yet  such  was  the  insufferable  cold 
that  we  could  not  sleep.  We  smoked  our  pipes  and  "spun  yarns" 
through  the  tedious  hours  of  the  weary  night. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Bowles,  one  of  our  number,  "I  have  seen  and 
shared  in  several  battles,  and  a  big  battle  is  only  a  rapidly  alternating 

succession    of    d d    big  scares ;  but  I    never    witnessed   such   an 

infernally  big  scare  as  the  red-headed  milk-maid  of  the  mountains 
inflicted  on  them  d d  dogs." 

Then  followed  such  shouts  of  laughter  that  I  absolutely  feared  the 
echoing  peals  would  be  borne  by  cold  blustering  winds  down  into 
Federal  headquarters  just  below  in  Chattanooga. 

"  If  the  dogs  have  got  back,"  said  Spratling,  "  and  I'm  going  there 
to  see  about  it,  I'll  bet  ten  to  one  that  every  time  she  stoops,  'she 

stoops  to  conquer'  and  them  d d  dogs  go  flying  and  howling  down 

the  deep  jungles  of  Sequatchie  Valley." 

"  I  can  never  forget  the  scene,"  interposed  Blake.  "When  she  stood 
on  her  head  in  the  churn,  her  little,  starveling  legs  dancing  an 
inverted  hornpipe,  the  picture  was  sublime  in  its  very  uniqueness. 
But  when  the  captain  here  overturned  the  churn  and  the  dogs  all 
stood  up  and  looked  on  with  growing  interest,  licking  their  chops 
and  crying  over  much  spilled  milk,  and  then,  when  their  attention 
was  gradually  arrested  by  the  old  woman  backing  out  of  that  churn 
wholly  uncovered  and  on  all  fours,  it  was  entirely  too  much   for  the 


3o  FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

dogs.  It  was  more  than  I  could  stand.  I  turned  away  only  to  see 
and  Hear  the  dogs  frightened,  shrieking,  and  flying  in  all  directions. ' ' 
"Do  you  know,"  continued  Blake,  "that  the  woman's  husband 
was  delighted?  He  sneaked  off.  I  saw  him  behind  the  chicken 
house,  throwing  himself  back  and  forth  like  a  cross-cut  saw,  and 
holding  his  sides  with  both  hands,  his  cheeks  swollen  and  his  eyes 
bursting  from  their  sockets.  It  was  keen  enjoyment  of  fun  struggling 
against  the  terror  in  which  he  held  his  red-headed,  dreadful  wife.  We 
made  a  good  rebel  of  him.  Don't  you  remember  that  we  heard  not 
a  word  from  him  when  the  wife  led  our  pursuers  so  noisily  and 
vengefully  on  our  track.  We  have  won  him,  and  if  ever  I  go  on 
another  expedition  in  that  direction  I  would  not  hesitate  to  trust  that 
man.  His  gratitude  to  us  is  boundless,  and  his  devotion  will  be 
admirable." 


CHAPTER  IV. 


The  Newspaper  Man  Tells  of  His  Escape  from  Burnside. — Compulsory  Sermon- 
izing.— "Tristram  Shandy." — A  Solemn  and  Terrible  Indictment. — The  Good 
that  Came  of  It. — Descent  of  the  Mountain. — Hunger  and  Roast  Hog. — Plans 
for  the  Future. 

There  was  silence  and  an  unavailing  purpose  to  sleep  when  the 
newspaper  man  said  that  he  had  told  us  how  he  escaped  from 
Knoxville,  going  out  on  one  side  of  the  then  little  city  when  General 
Burnside  entered  on  the  other. 

"It  was  impossibte  to  go  directly  south.  The  railway  leading  to 
Chattanooga  was  held  at  every  bridge  and  station  by  Federal  pickets. 
Therefore  I  went  towards  Nashville.  I  spent  a  day  at  Kingston, 
an  ancient  town  of  twenty-five  hundred  inhabitants  on  Clinch  River 
at  the  base  of  the  Cumberland  Mountains.  Thence  I  journeyed 
slowly  southeast,  pretending  to  be  a  Kentuckian  on  my  way  to 
Chattanooga  where  my  brother  was  dying  in  the  hospital. 

"  I  had,  as  a  Whig  and  Unionist,  traversed  this  district,  and  now  from 
the  home  of  one  friend  I  was  directed  to  another.  I  traveled  at 
night,  and  was  accompanied,  on  horseback  or  in  a  farm  wagon,  by 
the  political  and  partisan  friend  with  whom  I  had  spent  the  preceding 
night.  I  was  educated,  before  I  entered  the  university  and  afterward 
the  law-school,  at  a  theological  college,  and  learned  how  to  prepare 
very  acceptable  sermons,  perhaps  for  the  reason  that  I  could  memorize 
readily  and  recite  ore  rotundo  what  I  had  written.  When  I  first 
encountered  you,  and  when  Blake  recognized  me,  I  had  been  forced, 
most  unwillingly,  to  enact  the  role  of  chaplain  and  missionary  sent 
down  from  Cincinnati  by  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association.  Of 
course  I  sought  the  acquaintance  of  the  best  people  of  the  place,  and 
was  at  last  forced  to  deliver,  much  against  my  will,  two  sermons  while 
traversing  the  country  from  Kingston  to  the  Hiwassee  at  Charleston. 
The  last  was  pronounced,  the  day  before  we  met,  with  infinite  zeal 


32  FAGGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

and  fervor.  In  my  audience  were  many  grim,  but  devout,  Union 
soldiers.  On  this  occasion  I  delivered  the  sermon  which  you  read  in 
Tristram  Shandy.  Of  course  I  had  amended,  modernized,  and  localized 
it.  Those  most  familiar  with  Sterne  would  hardly  have  recognized  the 
pretty  homily.  I  used  this  charming  discourse  because  I  had  mastered 
it  perfectly  and  was  sure  I  would  go  through  with  the  day's  work 
never  incurring  a  suspicion  or  exciting  a  doubt  as  to  genuineness  of 
the  character  I  assumed.  If  I  had  not  pla3'ed  Beecher,  on  the  rostrum, 
to  perfection,  I  would  have  performed  as  a  spy  under  the  gallows 
most  awkwardly.  But  I  was  no  spy.  I  only  sought  to  escape  into 
the  Gulf  States  and  was  overjoyed  when  I  recognized  my  learned 
friend  Blake  here  in  the  rude  garb  of  an  East  Tennessee  clodhopper 
at  Charleston. 

"  So  much  by  way  of  prelude  to  a  recital  of  incidents  of  the  previous 
Sunday.  There  was  a  Methodist  conference  in  session  in  the  village 
of  Kingston.  I  had  just  reached  the  place,  and,  Sunday  morning  as 
it  was,  found  idlers  about  the  tavern  eyeing  me  suspiciously.  When 
any  two  persons  saw  me  approaching  they  parted  at  once  and  each 
went  his  way.  The  somewhat  aged  landlord  was  studiously  polite  and 
reserved.  Seeing  many  people  coming  into  the  village  I  learned  that 
the  Methodist  conference  of  the  district  was  to  sit  and  resolved,  rather 
than  be  captured  by  these  bushwhackers  and  shot  or  sent  a  prisoner 
of  war  beyond  the  Ohio,  to  become,  a  Northern  missionary.  I  took  a 
conspicuous  seat  in  the  church  soon  filled  to  overflowing. 

"Near  me  sat  a  bright-eyed,  slender,  sallow  little  preacher.  He  wore 
a  threadbare  broadcloth  coat  of  the  Methodist  regulation  pattern. 
There  were  constant  nervous  twitchings  of  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
and  laughing  devils  in  his  merry  eyes.  His  name,  as  I  learned  after- 
ward, was  Weaver,  a  famous  practical  joker  as  well  as  eloquent 
evangelist.  A  song  was  sung.  The  venerable  Bishop  of  the  district 
occupied  a  raised  seat  in  front  of  the  pulpit  and  bending  in  the 
presence  of  God  uttered  a  fervent  prayer  for  peace  and  for  the 
'restoration  of  harmony  and  good  government.'  Though  there  was 
nothing  in  the  prayer  pronounced  by  the  devout  old  man  to  offend  a 
'rebel,'  he  was  evidently  loyal  to  the  'Stars  and  Stripes'  as  were 
nine-tenths  of  his  hearers. 

"  Silence,  when  the  Bishop  resumed  his  seat,"  pervaded  the  assembly. 
At  length  a  youthful,  graceful  preacher  addressed  as  '  Brother  Wil- 
liams,' evidently  much  excited,  and  pale  and  tremulous,  rose  in  the 
midst  of  the  congregation,  and,  hesitating  and  stammering,  said : 

"'Brethren,  Brother  Jones  and  I  came  to  town  early  this  morning 
with  Brother  Weaver.' 

"I  turned  and  looked  at  Weaver.  There  were  a  thousand  merry 
devils  lurking  in  his  bright,  mischievous  eyer.  The  corners  of  his 
mouth  were  drawn  down  and  lips  suddenly  compressed.  Seeing  that 
the  eyes  of  the  assembly  were  turned  upon  him,  he  modestly  bowed 
his  head  and  sat  in  moody  silence  and  perfect  stillness  gazing  at  his  feet. 

"Brother  Williams  proceeded  : 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  33 

*'  'While  we  were  crossing  the  main  street  of  the  town  awhile  ago, 
brother  Weaver,  looking  up  at  the  windows  of  the  hotel,  remarked,  in 
very  sad,  solemn  tones,  to  Brother  Jones  and  myself,  that  the  last 
time  that  he  slept  in  that  hotel  the  landlord's  wife  occupied  his 
apartment.  Of  course  I  was  startled,  not  to  say  shocked.  Brother 
Jones,  too,  was  much  excited,  and  both  of  us  listened  intently  to 
Brother  Weaver's  reply  when  I  asked  him  if  it  were  possible  that  I 
heard  aright.  He  answered,  "Yes,  my  brethren,  it  is  my  duty  to  tell 
the  truth  and  whatever  you  may  think,  and  whatever  the  consequences, 
I  must  repeat  that  what  I  have  stated  is  true.  The  last  time  I  occupied 
an  apartment  in  that  hotel  the  landlord's  youthful  wife  was  my  com- 
panion." 

"  'Brother  Weaver's  face,  while  this  speech  was  uttered  by  him,  was 
expressive  of  profoundest  melancholy.' 

"  'And  I  am  persuaded,'  continued  Brother  Williams,  'that  he  was 
moved  to  make  this  painful  confession  because  the  face  of  the  Lord 
was  never  more  patent  in  His  goodness  and  heavenly  benefactions  than 
when  it  shone  upon  us  this  morning  in  the  gorgeous  sunlight  that 
suddenly  flooded  plains,  hills,  and  mountains.  It  rolled  and  fell  like 
a  brilliant  Niagara  of  jewels  and  gold  from  the  summit  of  the 
mountains  yonder  into  this  deep,  beautiful  valley.  Clinch  River,  my 
brethren,  shone  lustrously  as  burnished  silver,  and  the  very  splendors 
of  the  morning  and  pearly  brightness  and  purity  of  skies  overhanging 
this  matchless  land  of  beauty  and  blessedness  were  eloquent  of  God's 
goodness  and  suggestive  of  man's  penitence.  Brother  Weaver,  I  am 
sure,  could  not  withstand  the  force  of  nature's  persuasive  eloquence; 
and  coming,  as  he  was,  to  God's  temple,  he  was  moved  to  make  this 
painful  confession  of  his  heinous  crime. 

"  'I  appeal  to  Brother  Jones,  who  accompanied  us,  to  attest  the 
truthfulness  of  my  statements.' 

"Williams  sat  down  and  Jones,  an  illiterate  circuit-rider,  rising, 
slowly  and  timorously  said  : 

"  'Brethren,  all  that  you  have  hearn  is  only  too  true,'  and  his  eyes 
filling  with  tears,  he  used  his  handkerchief,  and  hesitating,  stammering 
and  weeping,  was  at  last  enabled  to  drawl  out  in  broken  accents,  '  I 
hope,  my  brethering  you  will  deal  leaniently  with  Brother  Weaver. 
The  flesh  you  know  is  weak  and  Brother  Weaver  has  repented.  I 
know  he  has  because  he  has  confessed.' 

"A  torrent  of  tears  swept  down  Jones'  rugged  features  and  with  an 
audible  groan  he  dropped,  like  a  dead  man,  on  his  seat,  utterly 
crushed  by  the  weight  of  this  unspeakable  sorrow.  t 

"Profoundest  silence  reigned,  broken  by  sobs  and  groans  of 
miserable  and  sympathetic  Brother  Jones.  No  assembly,  christian  or 
heathen,  was  ever  more  profoundly  shocked.  Women  of  the  con- 
gregation, nervously  excited,  grew  pale  and  haggard.  The  face  of 
the  Bishop's  venerated  wife  was  of  ashen  hue.  Weaver  was  the  flower 
of  the  flock  of  young  preachers. 

"At  last  the  Bishop  rose  and  said: 

3 


34  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

"  'Brethren,  you  have  heard,  with  horror  and  dismay,  statements 
made  by  our  two  young  brethren.  I  see  Brother  Weaver  there,  his 
head  bowed  beneath  the  weight  of  shame  and  penitence.  Will  he 
not  speak?     Has  he  nothing  to  say?  ' 

"The  Bishop  resumed  his  chair. 

"Slowly,  most  deliberately,  and  with  an  irrepressible  twinkle  in  his 
clear,  bright  eyes,  Brother  Weaver,  drawing  himself  up  by  the  back 
of  the  seat  before  him,  rose  to  confront  the  eager  gaze  of  the  excited 
assembly.  He  stood  some  moments  looking  sorrowfully  over  the 
throng  gazing  intently  into  his  attractive,  but  saddened,  solemn  face. 

"  'Brethren,'  he  said  at  last,  T  did  make  the  confession  which  my 
friends  heard  and  have  accurately  repeated ;  but  it  so  happens  that 
when  I  occupied  the  room  mentioned,  with  the  landlord's  wife,  as 
stated,  I  was  the  landlord,  and  the  woman  was  my  wife. ' 

"  The  true  state  of  the  case  was  slowly  comprehended  by  the  duped 
and  stupefied  multitude.  The  Bishop  and  his  wife  were  first  to 
discover  the  immaculate  innocence  of  the  two  circuit-riders,  Williams 
and  Jones,  and  a  broad  smile  spread  over  the  kindly  face  of  the  godly 
man.  His  fat  wife  began  to  laugh  immoderately.  The  infection 
spread,  and  when  it  had  grown  into  a  great  roar  the  lantern-jawed, 
solemn,  weeping  Jones  sprang  up  in  evident  disgust  and  exclaimed: 

"  'Sold  !  awfully  sold  !     Weren't  we,  Brother  Williams?  ' 

"This  outburst  of  the  mortified  Jones,  who  had  wasted  bitter  tears 
and  sweetest  sympathy  upon  Weaver,  perfected  the  sudden  revulsion 
from  profound  sadness  and  solemnity  to  an  apprehension  of  the 
absurdity  of  the  facts  and  their  utter  incompatibility  with  the  serious- 
ness of  the  place,  day,  and  occasion.  The  Bishop's  fat  wife  crammed 
her  handkerchief  into  her  mouth  and  the  Bishop  himself,  contemplating 
the  vacant  look  of  empty  astonishment  that  overspread  Jones'  heavy 
face,  who  seemed  to  ask  himself,  '  How  could  I  have  been  such  an 
arrant  fool?'  was  wholly  overcome.  He  caught  a  glance  from  the 
tearful  eyes  of  his  agonized  wife  and  could  contain  himself  no  longer. 
He  threw  his  head  backward,  clapped  his  hands  to  his  sides,  and 
roared  with  laughter.  I  never  saw  a  religious  assembly,  on  the  Lord's 
day,  in  such  a  deplorable,  unseemly  condition. 

"The  incident  served  to  divert  attention  from  myself.  I  mixed 
and  talked  and  laughed  with  busy,  garrulous  men  and  women,  and 
each  seemed  to  think  the  rest  had  known  me  always.  The  Bishop, 
first  mildly  chiding  Brother  Weaver  for  the  innocent  fraud  practised 
upon  two  zealous  circuit- riders,  pronounced  a  sermon  of  singular 
simplicity  and  marvellous  incisiveness  and  force.  The  minds  of  his 
auditors  were  diverted  wholly  from  sinful  rebels,  and  when  I  returned 
in  the  afternoon  to  the  hotel,  having  passed  under  the  inspection  of 
the  multitude,  the  venerable  landlord  greeted  me  most  graciously  and 
called  forth  the  good-looking  wife  that  I  might  see,  as  he  stated  the 
proposition,  'how  naterally  even  a  preacher  might  go  wrong  in  his 
hotel.'  " 

Artillery  and  cavalry  bugles  and  drums  at  a  thousand  glowing  camp 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  35 

fires  blazing  along  the  curves  of  Moccasin  Bend  and  on  the  slopes  of 
mountain  sides  and  down  the  deep  valley  of  the  Tennessee,  were 
sounding  the  reveille  when  the  modest  journalist  concluded  his  recital. 
When,  some  weeks  later,  it  was  written  out,  I  had  not  learned  how  to 
insert  the  words  ["laughter,"]  and  ["great  applause"]  in  brackets,  as 
since  introduced  by  party  leaders;  otherwise  these  pages  would  show 
how  keenly  the  story,  here  imperfectly  reproduced,  was  enjoyed  by 
cold,  comfortless,  and  hungry  scouts  ensconced  in  a  little  cavern  on 
the  summit  of  Lookout  Mountain,  on  the  ever  memorable  night  of 
December  31,  1863,  the  first  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  Stone  River. 

The  mountain  was  veneered  with  sheets  of  ice.  We  knew  that  few 
were  abroad  on  such  a  morning,  that  sentinels  and  pickets  stood  near 
camp  fires,  and  that  scouting  parties  of  the  enemy  sought  shelter 
within  cabins  of  bushwhackers.  Avoiding  paths  and  roadways  and 
cabins  we  began  to  slide,  rather  than  walk,  down  the  mountain.  In 
a  few  hours  we  reached  McLemore's  Cove  and  thence,  painfully 
fatigued  by  sliding  over  the  frozen  ground  sheeted  in  ice,  we  plodded 
wearily  along  the  ridge,  known,  I  believe,  as  Taylor's.  Night  was 
coming  on.  We  had  eaten  nothing  for  twenty-four  hours.  Made 
reckless  by  suffering,  one  of  our  number  shot  a  hog.  It  was  hastily 
skinned,  washed,  sliced  and  roasted  to  a  crisp,  in  thin  strips, 
by  a  roaring  fire  made  to  glow  with  the  farmer's  rails  whose  sustenance 
we  devoured.  Without  bread  or  salt,  we  ate  ravenously.  I  have 
since  dined  at  the  Fifth  Avenue,  at  Morley's,  the  best  cafes  of  Paris, 
Berlin,  and  Vienna,  but  never  derived  such  exquisite  pleasure  from 
food  as  when  we  half-frozen  soldiers  sat  about  the  blazing  rails,  and 
ate  unsalted  pork  on  the  heights  that  look  down  upon  Chattanooga. 

Two  days  later,  moving  at  night,  and  concealed  and  resting  in 
densest  thickets  during  daytime,  we  rested  at  Tunnel  Hill,  where 
General  Pat  Cleburne  was  encamped.  He  congratulated  us  in  most 
flattering  terms  on  successes  achieved,  was  pleased  with  the  fullness  and 
accuracy  of  information  given  as  to  the  numbers,  purposes,  and 
positions  of  the  enemy,  and  made  me  accompany  him  to  General 
Granbury's  quarters.  Here  we  spent  most  of  the  night  while  I  recited, 
as  given  in  these  pages,  the  story  of  our  adventures.  I  gave,  besides, 
minute  descriptions  of  the  country  and  relative  positions  of  the  forces  of 
the  enemy  and  the  strength  of  each  position  defined  in  pencil  sketches 
I  had  made.  That  night  it  was  determined  by  these  two  Confederate 
leaders  that  a  permanent  body  of  scouts  should  be  kept  constantly 
employed  between  the  lines  of  the  two  armies.  I  was  commended  by 
these  officers  to  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston  and  soon  afterward  given 
charge  of  a  body  of  scouts  and  entered  upon  the  execution  of  hazardous 
tasks  incident  to  the  position.  I  am  glad  to  state  that  I  never  forfeited 
the  personal  esteem  and  unlimited  confidence  of  either  of  these  three 
great  leaders ;  and  that  I,  a  boy  not  quite  eighteen  years  of  age,  won 
and  retained  under  such  an  ordeal,  the  unfaltering  friendship  and 
confidence  of  these  accomplished  gentlemen  and  soldiers,  is  the  most 
pleasing  reflection  incident  to  my  conduct  in  life. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Patrolling  the  "Neutral  Ground." — "Mountain  Dew." — A  Ghastly  Spectacle. — The 
Tree  of  Death. — Bushwhackers  and  Great  Fright. — Successful  Expedition. — 
Cowardice  Punished. — Mamie  Hughes. — Day  Dreams. — Southern  Men  and 
Women  as  affected  by  the  War. — Negro  Slaves  and  Southern  Women. — 
Southern  Planters. — Mamie's  Home  and  Negro  Slavery. 

After  a  few  days  rest,  I  was  given  charge  of  thirteen  men  and 
assigned  the  task  of  arresting  deserters  and  bushwhackers.  We  estab- 
lished a  rendezvous  about  midway  between  the  two  armies  and  between 
Ringgold  and  La  Fayette  in  Georgia.  One  man  was  made  cook 
and  commissary,  remaining  always  at  our  place  of  encampment,  while 
twelve  men  were  constantly  on  duty.  Six  went  out  each  morning, 
three  going  east  and  three  going  west.  When  these  came  back,  the 
other  six  in  turn  explored  the  "neutral  ground."  Seven  men  were 
always  ready  to  defend  our  stronghold,  and  the  country  about  us  was 
perfectly  patrolled.  Within  a  week  we  captured  and  sent  back  eight 
deserters  to  be  tried  and  shot.  Returning  to  camp  late  one  afternoon 
I  was  startled  by  a  rapid  fusillade  in  its  direction.  I  was  sure  the 
bushwhackers  had  attacked  my  little  garrison  and^  hurried  to  its  relief. 
Of  course,  anticipating  an  ambuscade,  we  moved,  when  within  a  mile 
of  the  scene  of  conflict,  very  cautiously.  But  the  firing  was  suddenly 
silenced.  We  feared  the  worst — even  that  we  would  find  our  comrades 
dead  on  the  unnamed,  unknown  field  of  conflict,  or  hanging  to 
great  trees  hard-by.  Just  then  there  was  an  explosion  as  of  a  six- 
pounder  field-piece.  Then  the  garrison  shouted  as  if  a  great  victory 
were  won  and  an  enemy  put  to  flight.  We  moved  forward  cautiously, 
full  of  gravest  apprehensions. 

There  was  a  prisoner  held  in  our  camp,  the  meanest  villain,  and 
murderer,  and  coward  that  ever  slunk  away  from  an  open  fight  to  do 
assassin's  work  at  night  or  by  the  roadside.  It  was  my  purpose  to 
send   him    that   night,   to   be   court-martialed   and    shot,  to  General 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  37 

Cleburne's  head-quarters.     He  had  recently  waylaid  and  murdered,  as 
my  men  knew,  two  of  the  bravest  soldiers. 

By  some  means,  in  my  absence,  the  little  garrison  had  been 
supplied  with  "mountain  dew,"  that  intoxicating  beverage  which, 
while  war  ravaged  the  South,  came  trickling  down,  drop  by  drop,  from 
green  logs  upon  sheds  of  poverty  in  deep  glens,  first  to  madden,  and 
then  to  lull  jaded  inmates  to  repose.  While  the  scouts  were  half 
drunken,  this  wretched  murderer  and  deserter  had  attempted  to 
escape.  He  had  been  fired  upon,  and  swooning  unharmed,  in  pitiful 
terror,  was  brought  back  to  our  resting  place.  His  meanness  and 
cowardice  exasperated  the  drunken  soldiers.  One  of  them  climbed  a 
slender  hickory  tree,  forty  or  fifty  feet  high,  strong,  tough,  and 
elastic  as  whalebone.  The  weight  of  the  soldier's  body  barely  bent 
the  top  of  the  tree  to  the  ground. 

At  the  moment  I  came  in  view  of  the  spot,  the  bushwhacker, 
attached  by  a  cord  about  his  neck  to  the  tree-top,  shot  upward  through 
the  air.  His  head  was  jerked  away  from  his  light,  sinewy,  little  body. 
The  neck  seemed,  as  the  little  villain  sped  upward  and  away  through 
the  ajr,  quite  a  yard  long.  He  was  instantly  killed,  the  dead  body 
having  been  thrown  by  the  slender,  elastic  tree  more  than  one 
hundred  feet  from  the  point  at  which  it  left  the  earth,  describing  a 
semicircle  above  the  tree-top.  The  hickory  tree  almost  instantly 
re-assumed  its  erect  position,  and  when  I  stood  in  the  midst  of  the 
men,  the  dead  body,  almost  motionless,  swung  down  among  the  top- 
most branches  of  this  extraordinary  gallows.  The  men,  drunken  as 
they  were  when  firing  the  fusillade  of  triumph  and  when  they  exploded 
an  old  musket  barrel  half  full  of  powder  and  driven  downward  in  the 
ground  till  only  the  touch-hole  was  exposed,  stood  sober  and  erect, 
and  stared  upward  in  horror  at  the  dead  body  of  the  wretched  bush- 
whacker dangling  from  the  tree  and  swinging  helplessly  around  its  top. 

I  asked  no  questions.  None  were  needful.  An  ugly,  brown  jug 
was  overturned  on  a  blanket.  Its  open  mouth,  from  which  whiskey 
gurgled,  in  melancholy  accents,  recited  every  incident  of  the  horrible 
crime.  Its  breath  was  noisome  as  its  deeds  are  always  disgusting  and 
hideous.  Drunken  as  were  my  guardsmen  and  incapable,  I  was 
forced,  by  every  consideration  of  safety,  to  find  at  once  another 
rendezvous.  The  explosion  of  the  gun  barrel  invited  spies  and  scouts 
and  bushwhackers  from  all  directions,  and  assured  of  their  speedy 
arrival,  our  safety  demanded  instant  flight. 

My  whole  force  had  been  rapidly  drawn  together,  and  within 
twenty  minutes  we  began  to  move.  Time  was  too  valuable  to  devote 
a  half  hour  to  the  burial  of  the  ghastly  corpse  in  the  tree-top.  We 
left  it,  a  hideous  spectacle,  swaying  restlessly  to  and  fro  as  the  winds 
moved  the  body  of  the  slender  tree.  Birds  of  prey,  in  unbroken, 
untraveled  forest  solitudes,  devoured  it.  There  was  no  Rizpah  to 
defend  it.  Its  bones,  when  stripped  of  flesh,  were  restive  as  before, 
and  still  were  dancing,  when  fierce,  wintry  winds  bent  the  great  forest 
oaks,  a  ghastly  dance  of  solitude,  around  the  body  of  the  tree  of  death. 


3S  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

We  moved  to  a  point  near  La  Fayette,  a  village  in  Walker  County, 
Georgia.  There,  one  of  my  men  learned  from  a  country  girl  he  often 
visited,  that  the  bushwhackers  of  the  district  would  meet,  in  order  to 
effect  .an  organization,  the  next  Saturday  night,  at  an  old  church  in  or 
near  McLemore's  Cove  several  miles  away.  The  girl  was  informed 
that  forty  or  fifty  armed  men  would  be  present.  We  could  only  be 
assured  of  the  damsel's  truthfulness  by  going  into  McLemore's  Cove. 
There  was  great  hazard  to  be  incurred.  If  assailed  and  overpowered 
there  was  only  one  way  of  escape,  and  our  force  was  too  weak  to 
cope  with  that  to  be  organized  by  the  bushwhackers.  We  held  a 
council  of  war,  and  after  due  deliberation,  condemned  the  proposed 
expedition.  Five  of  us  persisting  in  the  purpose  to  capture  the  bush- 
whackers, finally  arranged  it  that  we  would  secure  the  co-operation  of  a 
cavalry  force  at  the  nearest  Confederate  outpost,  and  make  a  vigorous 
descent  upon  the  country  church.  Fortune  favored  us.  We  had  not 
gone  five  miles  in  the  direction  of  the  proposed  rendezvous  before  we. 
discovered  a  solitary  horseman,  who  proved  to  be  the  very  man  we 
wanted.  He  came  upon  us  so  suddenly,  in  an  abrupt  curve  of  the 
densely  wooded  roadside,  that  he  had  no  opportunity  to  escape. 
Covered  instantly  by  five  muskets,  he  dismounted  and  surrendered 
without  a  murmur.  We  agreed  with  the  prisoner,  who  was  quite  fifty 
years  old,  such  was  our  eagerness  to  obtain  information,  if  we  found 
his  statements  truthful,  and  if  he  would  give  us  information  we  wanted 
and  no  more  wage  war  against  the  South,  that  we  would  release 
him.  He  assented,  and  confirmed  the  story  told  by  Ralph's  sweet- 
heart. We  found  all  his  assertions  correct,  and  the  bargain  then  made 
was  afterwards  faithfully  executed.  Two  men,  with  this  prisoner, 
were  sent  to  the  nearest  cavalry  encampment.  Fifty  men  were  placed 
at  my  disposal  ;  the  church,  while  the  bushwhackers  occupied  it,  was 
completely  invested  ;  and  its  occupants,  about  fifty  in  number,  were 
captured  without  firing  a  gun.  They  never  dreamed  of  the  possible 
presence,  in  that  remote,  inaccessible  cove,  of  a  strong  body  of  Con- 
federate cavalry. 

Of  course,  we  who  participated  in  the  hard  march  and  toils  and 
dangers  of  this  expedition  into  McLemore's  Cove  were  not  a  little 
irritated  when,  returning  to  camp,  we  found  that  our  comrades  had 
done  nothing  in  our  absence.  They  had  participated  in  many  country 
dances.  They  were  telling  of  the  beauty  of  many  maidens,  occupants 
of  many  cottages  and  cabins  everywhere  within  ten  miles  of  the 
village.  They  had  forgotten  our  existence  and  inquired  most  care- 
lessly about  the  result  of  the  fortunate  expedition.  We  were 
grievously  offended,  and  proposed,  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  to 
punish  their  timidity  and  selfishness. 

A  country  dance  was  organized  and  appointed  for  that  very  evening. 
We  five  who  had  shared  in  the  expedition  into  McLemore's  Cove 
made  no  sign,  but  went  quietly  to  the  ball.  We  danced  as  vigorously 
and  joyously  as  the  rest  till  perhaps  eleven  o'clock.  Then,  as  pre- 
arranged, three  of  the  five  mentioned  went  unnoticed  to  a  point  near 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  39 

the  court-house,  half  a  mile  distant,  and  fired  a  volley  of  muskets  and 
pistols.  Instantly  the  music  was  silenced  and  dancing  suspended. 
Each  soldier  hurriedly  armed  himself.  No  further  demonstration  of 
enemies  or  friends  occurring,  two  of  my  recusant  scouts,  blustering 
monstrously  and  asserting  much  fearlessness,  said  they  would  go  out 
and  discover  the  cause  of  the  alarm.  Accompanied  by  a  fun-loving 
Irishman,  I  followed,  pursuing  a  street  parallel  with  that  taken  by 
these  mock  heroes.  They  went  not  farther  than  two  hundred  yards, 
and  stopped  beneath  the  dense  shadow  of  a  great  cedar  tree.  We  fired 
our  muskets  into  the  tree-top  above  their  heads.  Each  thought  the 
other  mortally  wounded.  Both  cried  out,  "They  are  coming!  They 
are  coming!  "  and  fled  precipitately.  We  fired  our  pistols  to  acceler- 
ate their  flight,  and  heighten  the  terror  of  their  dismayed  comrades. 
They  rushed  into  the  hall  among  frightened  women  and  unnerved 
men,  unnerved  because  dangers  environing  them  were  unseen  and 
unmeasured.  Rapidly  girls  and  beaux  of  the  immediate  vicinity  ran 
away  to  their  homes,  and  there  was  such  a  stampede,  as  "  when  Bel- 
gium's capital  had  gathered  in  her  beauty  and  her  chivalry." 

My  object  was  accomplished.  The  men  who  had  refused  to  go 
with  us  into  McLemore's  Cove  were  wofully  frightened.  This  Capua 
in  Lombardy  which  had  wrought  such  fatal  paralysis  of  the  soldierly 
virtues  and  energies  of  my  scouts,  was  divested  of  attractiveness,  and 
next  morning,  rising  before  the  sun,  my  men  were  ready  for  the 
execution  of  any  task  of  toil  or  feat  of  daring.  I  explained  the 
incidents  of  the  night  before  and  stated  that  soldiers  were  made 
worthless  by  whiskey,  dancing,  and  women,  and  that,  if  reform  were 
impossible,  I  would  send  them  back  to  the  ditches  and  have  others,  in 
their  stead,  detailed  for  this  free  and  exciting  service. 

I  should  not  forget  to  state  that  the  honest  bushwhacker  we  cap- 
tured won  my  confidence  to  such  an  extent  that  I  told  him  how 
completely  my  heart  had  been  entrapped  by  the  charms  and  wiles  and 
graces  of  pretty,  confiding,  frank,  and  fearless  Mamie  Hughes.  To 
him  I  entrusted  my  first  letter  to  Mamie.  I  retained  no  copy,  but 
remember  that  I  suggested  that  she  should  take  advantage  of  the 
bushwhacker's  thorough  knowledge  of  the  country  and  of  his  trust- 
worthiness, and  accompany  him  to  her  own  home  below  Dalton.  I 
confessed  to  the  bushwhacker  how  thoroughly  I  was  devoted  to  the 
charming  girl,  and  promised,  if  he  would  conduct  her  safely  to  her 
own  home  below  our  lines,  I  would  do  him  any  personal  service  he 
might  require.  I  am  not  sure  that  my  judgment  approved  the 
arrangement  I  made  for  a  meeting  with  Mamie.  If  I  had  loved  her 
less,  I  would  never  have  proposed  her  subjection  to  the  dangers  and 
fatigues  of  such  a  journey  even  with  such  a  guardsman.  But  I  had 
never  ceased  to  think  and  dream  of  Mamie's  great,  lustrous,  black 
eyes  and  of  that  limitless  confidence  I  read  in  them  when  she  looked 
upon  my  face  and  held  my  hand  by  the  moonlit  roadside  where  the 
compulsory  dance  occurred  on  the  cold,  bleak  hillside  not  far  below 
the  village   of  Charleston.     Every  day   some   soldier,   noticing   my 


4o  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

abstracted  manner,  said  that  Mamie  Hughes  had  wrought  a  marvelous 
transformation  of  my  conduct  and  character.  When  relieved  of  duties 
and  anxieties  incident  to  my  position  and  to  dangers  almost  always 
environing  us,  I  stood  aloof  from  my  men,  no  longer  participating  in 
their  rude  sports  or  occupying  a  place  at  some  improvised  card-table. 
I  was  dreaming  of  Mamie  Hughes,  and  sought  solitude,  that  undis- 
turbed, fancy  might  reproduce  her  matchless  charms.  She  had 
promised  never  to  forget  and  meet  me  at  her  home.  From  the  day 
on  which  I  transmitted  the  letter  telling  her  to  come,  that  I  must  see 
her  again,  that  I  loved  her  passionately,  that  I  had  never  been  able  to 
dismiss  the  splendid  vision  wrought  by  her  presence  or  repress  aspira- 
tions excited  by  the  hope  that  she  would  love  me — from  that  day  I 
had  been  a  changed  man.  I  was  conscious  that  I  had  entered  upon  a 
new  life.  I  had  found  one  to  share  it  who  had  already  become  an 
inseparable  part  of  my  existence. 

Wedded  life,  if  marriage  be  unity,  begins  before  we  go  to  the  altar 
and  before  the  priest  utters  his  meaningless  jargon.  This  is  only  a  cere- 
mony :  the  fact  is  accomplished  and  real  wedded  oneness  begins 
beneath  the  moon  and  stars,  as  when,  on  the  roadside,  Mamie  and  I 
met  and  parted  so  suddenly  that  her  face  and  form  constituted  an 
imperfect  memory,  while  their  effect  upon  my  conduct  and  emotions 
wrought  such  a  change  in  my  character  and  habits  that  my  associates 
knew  that  we  "twain  were  one  flesh."  They  had  seen  how  I  was 
dazed  by  the  wonderful  fascinations  of  the  little  sprite  that  sprang, 
a  brilliant,  startling  vision  from  dreamland,  in  the  midst  of  the 
mountains  of  East  Tennessee. 

From  many  sources  I  had  learned  the  history  of  Mamie's  family. 
Her  brother  was  a  Union  soldier  serving  under  Colonel  Cliff.  Her 
father,  a  life-long  Whig,  was  a  devout  loyalist  or  Union  man,  while 
she  and  her  mother  were  enthusiastic  rebels.  It  is  a  strange  fact, 
soon  discovered  in  traversing  these  mountainous  districts  of  several 
coterminous  States,  that  while  men  were  commonlv  "loval,"  women, 
more  impulsive  and  sympathetic,  and  apt  to  serve  the  weak  against 
the  strong,  were  ardent  "rebels."  Political  and  partisan  considera- 
tions involved  were  never  valued  by  Mamie  Hughes.  She  was  born 
rich  and  a  slaveholder,  but  never  dreamed  of  the  pending  conflict  as 
a  struggle  to  maintain  or  extirpate  slavery.  She  was  not  of  those  who 
went  to  war  because  the  Union  would  not  suffer  southern  masters  to 
convey  negros  in  the  abstract  to  an  impossible  place — Kansas.  She 
would  not  have  given  one  drop  of  the  blood  of  those  dear  to  her  for  the 
freedom  or  slavery  of  all  Africans  in  the  South.  Fighting  was 
begun,  and  womanly  sympathy  impelled  Mamie  to  espouse  the  cause 
of  the  weak  and  of  those  she  knew  and  loved.  Her  father,  recog- 
nizing, as  the  daughter  and  wife  did  not,  ties  of  partisanship,  and 
listening,  as  was  his  wont,  to  the  sturdy,  practical,  simple  eloquence 
of  Andrew  Johnson  and  reading  the  National  Intelligencer,  a  Whig 
and  conservative  newspaper  that  once  entered  the  home  of  almost 
every  slaveholder,  was  an  unfaltering,  earnest  Unionist. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  41 

I  had  observed  differences  between  northern  and  southern  women 
produced  by  the  institution  of  slavery.  If  the  northern  dame  were 
self-reliant,  she  was  also  cold,  selfish  and  practical.  If  southern 
women  were  physically  helpless,  and  unused  to  toil,  and  knew  not 
how  to  serve  themselves,  they  were  also  wholly  ignorant  of  the 
depravity,  as  well  as  selfishness,  of  men.  The  hybrid  race  stood 
between  the  maiden  of  wealth  and  social  vices  of  which  she  never 
dreamed.  Chivalry  honored  and  respected  virtue  because  there 
was  no  necessity,  as  society  was  arranged,  for  assaults  upon  its 
strongholds.  But  beyond  this,  the  co-existence  of  two  races,  the  one 
enslaved  and  by  no  means  faultless,  imbued  free-born  damsels  with  a 
degree  of  self-respect,  and  pride  of  person  and  race  which  repelled 
every  approach  of  degradation  and  dishonor.  Selfish  interest  con- 
curred with  and  heightened  and  ennobled  the  tenderest  sensibilities  and 
truest  sympathies  of  southern  women.  It  was  their  province  to 
minister  to  the  sick,  to  clothe  the  naked,  and  feed  the  hungry.  Their 
reward  was  two-fold :  in  dollars  that  glittered  in  greasy,  healthful, 
shining  African  faces,  and  in  that  higher,  holier  pleasure  derived  from 
the  consciousness  of  doing  good,  in  ministering  to  the  delights  of 
others,  and  relieving  woes  of  the  helpless,  dependent  and  unfortunate. 
Slavery,  therefore,  produced  the  noblest  women  possible,  and  I  loved 
Mamie  Hughes  none  the  less  that  she  was  an  hereditary  slave-owner. 
Infinite  and  numberless  as  were  evils  incident  to  the  "peculiar 
institution,"  it  begat  a  class  of  men  and  women,  and  a  state  of  society, 
in  many  of  its  aspects,  as  admirable  and  delightful  as  that  is  degraded 
and  brutal  in  numerous  localities  has  supplanted  African  servitude 
and  white  mastery.  Planters  were  petty  kings,  wielding  powers  almost 
of  life  and  death.  The  master's  slightest  nod  was  the  iron  law  of  the 
realm.  None  of  God's  creatures  are  so  good  and  great  that  they 
are  worthy  of  such  autocratic  power,  and  few  so  ignorant  and 
depraved  that  they  should  be  subjected  to  this  despotic  authority ;  the 
right  of  masters  was  no  more  divine  than  is  that  of  kings.  Mamie's 
father,  like  my  own,  reigned  unrestrained  despot  over  five  hundred 
human  beings,  and  such  a  father  hardly  tolerated  the  unconquerable 
fidelity  of  the  mother  and  daughter  to  the  "treasonable  Confed- 
eracy. ' '  That  both  might  entertain  changed  or  modified  opinions, 
they  were  separated,  and  Mamie  was  sent  into  East  Tennessee  to  spend 
a  few  months  with  her  "loyal"  cousins.  There  I  had  met  her,  as 
already  stated,  and  there  I  was  hopelessly  enchained,  a  helpless  victim 
of  the  simple  wiles  and  native  charms  of  pretty  Mamie  Hughes. 

Before  the  deluge  of  woes,  war,  poverty,  vice,  and  crime  swept  over 
and  annihilated  it,  the  hospitality  of  the  "Old  South"  was  traditional 
as  it  was  matchless.  In  fact,  monumental  virtues,  as  well  as  vices, 
were  sturdy  outgrowths  of  negro  servitude.  These  were  expanded  and 
flourished,  until  (in  its  social  aspects,  as  seen  from  without  and  as 
presented  in  the  every-day  life  of  southern  households)  strangers 
deemed  it  paradisical.  The  characters  of  the  planter  and  of  members 
of  his  family  were  shaped  by  peculiar  influences  wrought  by  peculiar 


42  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

relations  of  master  and  slave,  and  by  consequent  peculiar  modes  of 
life.  He  trafficked  and  traded  with  nobody.  He  only  gave.  His 
cotton  or  sugar  or  rice  factor,  in  the  nearest  commercial  mart,  sold 
his  crops  and  bought  his  annual  home,  and  plantation,  and  household 
supplies.  His  overseers  commonly  bought  mules,  and  horses,  and 
bacon,  and  the  planter  only  rode  over  his  estates,  and  watched  the 
growth  of  crops,  and  determined  questions  of  right  and  wrong  arising 
among  "his  people"  on  his  broad  estates.  Humanity  was  profitable, 
and  hospitality,  where  farms  and  gardens  and  orchards  produced 
everything  that  hospitality  consumed,  cost  nothing.  Planters  were 
even  willing  to  pay  for  agreeable  society.  Therefore,  their  residences 
were  hotels  where  no  bills  were  presented.  They  had  dogs,  and 
horses,  and  guns,  and  wines,  and  dinners  to  attract  those  whose 
society  they  courted.  Having  no  business  or  trade  relations  with 
their  neighbors,  they  had  no  quarrels  or  law  suits,  and  thus  the  loftiest 
and  most  admirable  personal  virtues  were  cultivated  and  exercised, 
and  worthy  men,  as  well  as  admirable  and  haughty  women,  sprang 
from  the  centuries  of  African  servitude. 

Mamie  Hughes  was  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  feelings,  and 
instincts,  and  ineradicable  pride  of  race  that  distinguised  the  best  and 
truest  and  haughtiest  of  her  sex.  She  had  been  blest,  and  injured  in 
nothing,  by  influences  exerted  by  negro  subordination  to  the  white 
race.  Rich,  never  having  known  a.  want  ungratified,  she  was  self- 
willed  and  arrogant.  Accustomed  to  the  exaction  of  obedience,  she 
expected  limitless  concessions  to  her  demands.  The  time  was  coming 
when  Mamie  must  adapt  herself  to  conditions  of  life  wholly  subverted. 
She  was  anticipating  it  and  schooling  her  proud  spirit  even  then,  that 
she  might  defy  poverty  and  cheerfully  accept  its  griefs.  The  tide  of 
desolating  war  had  already  swept  over  the  homes  of  her  kindred  in 
East  Tennessee.  There  she  had  led  the  way  in  executing  each 
arduous  household  task  suddenly  imposed  by  hard  necessities  of  the 
period  upon  her  aunts  and  cousins.  She  encountered  every  stroke  of 
poverty  with  seeming  indifference.  She  toiled  steadily,  intelligently, 
and  skillfully,  and  such  was  her  patient,  smiling  heroism,  that 
misfortunes  became  sources  of  pleasure,  because  of  the  delight  involved 
in  retrieving  them. 

And  Mamie  Hughes  was  a  true  representative  of  her  class.  The 
richest,  and  proudest,  and  noblest  of  the  South  when  poverty  came, 
were  never  heard  to  utter  a  lament.  There  were  no  Jeremiads 
in  which  were  inserted  tedious  parenthetical  descriptions  of  gorgeous 
splendors  and  fabulous  wealth  in  the  midst  of  which  she  had  moved 
and  reigned  in  unrestricted  authority.  Mamie,  as  subsequent  pages 
may  tell,  was  true  to  herself,  to  her  class,  and  to  the  nobility  of  her 
race.  She  was  fearless  and  confident,  encountering  calamities  and 
triumphing  over  poverty  with  a  determination  and  steadiness  of 
purpose  that  exacted  every  concession  of  gratitude  and  love  which 
intelligence  and  truth  always  award  to  the  loftiest  heroism. 

Besides  a  sugar  plantation  in  Louisiana,  Mamie's  father  owned  rice 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  43 

fields  in  South  Carolina;  but  his  preferred   home  was  in  the  broad, 

rich    valley,    in    County,    Georgia,    fifty-eight    miles    from 

Atlanta.  Here  Mamie's  mother,  and  grandmother,  and  great  grand- 
mother, were  born,  and  here  her  fathers  had  tilled  the  soil,  and 
gathered  wealth,  and  owned  countless  slaves,  through  many  gener- 
ations. Great  old  oaks,  and  walnut  trees,  and  Lombardy  poplars  had 
been  planted  one  hundred  years  before  in  long  lines  leading  through 
the  enclosed  forest  to  the  rambling,  irregular  cluster  of  apartments, 
passages,  dining,  dancing  and  music  halls,  and  library,  and  bed- 
chambers that  constituted  the  ancestral  home  of  Mamie  Hughes. 
How  I  happened  to  go  thither,  and  what  vicissitudes  of  fortune  befell 
Mamie,  her  brother,  and  myself,  will  appear  hereafter. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


The  Fascinating  Deserter  and  Gay  Widow. — An  Accommodating  Negro. — The 
Capture. — Unearthing  a  Deserter. — "Ef  this  'ere  Umbaril  would  shoot." — A 
Corruptible  Juvenile. — A  Woman  who  loved  Whiskey,  and  how  it  mollified 
Her. 

We  had  been  pursuing  the  usual  routine  of  scouts'  duties  several 
days  near  La  Fayette,  capturing  deserters  and  bushwhackers,  and 
incurring  at  all  times  unseen  and  unmeasured  dangers,  when  we 
learned,  through  a  woman,  of  course,  that  a  lieutenant  of  a  Georgia 
regiment,  Longstreet's  Corps,  who  had  escaped  as  a  deserter  from  our 
lines,  was  harbored  by  his  cousin,  so-called,  a  gay  and  charming  young 
widow  of  the  town.  WTe  were  eager  to  capture  the  young  gentleman. 
Our  fair  informant,  moved  by  jealousy,  said  that  he  had  concealed 
himself  in  the  forest  while  we  were  in  La  Fayette,  but  returned  when 
we  left  the  place.  I  went  about  the  streets  everywhere  stating  that  we 
would  move  south,  into  our  own  lines,  the  next  day.  With  my  whole 
force,  and  with  baggage  packed  and  rations  prepared  for  a  long  march, 
we  moved  out  of  the  place.  Five  miles  away  we  entered  a  thicket, 
remaining  there  till  midnight.  Then,  with  four  men  I  retraced  my 
steps  and  reached  the  widow's  house  in  the  suburbs  about  one  o'clock. 
In  the  darkness  I  stationed  my  men  about  the  house,  supposing  that  the 
gay  Lothario,  hearing  of  our  departure,  would  return  before  day-dawn 
to  his  accustomed  and  most  comfortable  quarters.  We  were  only 
mistaken  in  the  date  of  events.  Wre  rested,  watching  intently,  but  in 
vain,  for  the  Lieutenant's  approach,  till  streaks  of  gray  light  danced 
and  flashed  and  disappeared,  and  then  marked  the  verge  of  the 
eastern  sky.  Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  our  intended  prize  might 
have  entered  the  house  almost  as  soon  as  we  left 'the  place. 

Just  then  a  drowsy  negro  appeared.  He  came  out  of  his  cabin 
hard-by,  slowly  yawning,  and  stretching  himself,  and  rubbing  his 
eyes,  to  the  wood  pile  behind  which  I  was  seated.     He  was  muttering 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  45 

to  himself  and  cursing  the  cold  weather  and  "  Massa  Jones"  who  had 
ordered  him  to  kindle  fires  in  the  "white  folks'  house."  Silently, 
and  unseen,  in  the  gray  mists  of  early  dawn,  I  leveled  my  musket. 
The  sleepy  negro's  nose  struck  the  cold  barrel. 

"Golly!  What's  dat?"  he  exclaimed,  starting  back,  and  throwing 
up  his  hands. 

"Be  silent,  you  black  rascal,  or  I'll  blow  away  the  top  of  your 
head,"  was  my  low  response. 

Cuffee  was  now  wide  awake.  His  greasy  eyes  glistened  in  the  pale, 
thin  fog.  I  said  to  him  that  if  he  obeyed  me  he  should  not  be 
harmed.  To  steady  his  nerves  and  confidence  I  gave  him  a  silver 
half  dollar.  He  had  not  seen  one  since  i860.  He  grinned  when 
rubbing  and  looking  at  it,  and  then  an  awfully  black  pall  of  gloom 
settled  instantly  and  fell  over  his  sooty  face  when  he  contemplaced 
the  lowered  musket,  still  pointed  at  him. 

"Cuffee,"  I  said. 

He  started,  thrusting  the  half  dollar  into  his  breeches  pocket. 

"Cuffee,"  I  continued,  "I  want  that  Lieutenant  who  is  staying  in 
your  mistress'  house." 

A  broad  grin  slowly  spread  over  and  illuminated  Cuffee's  porten- 
tously black  physiognomy.     He  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  said : 

"Go  an'  cotch  him,  massa.      He's  in  dar." 

"Yes,"  I  responded,  "I  know  that,  but  he  is  armed  and  desperate, 
and  if  I  open  the  door  he  will  shoot.  You  must  open  it.  He  knows 
your  voice  and  will  come  unarmed  to  admit  you  with  your  load  of 
wood.  When  he  opens  the  door  my  musket  will  make  him  stand 
harmless  and  helpless." 

"  You  is  gwine  to  tuck  him  wid  ye,  is  ye?  An'  he  aint  comin'  back 
enny  mo?"    Cuffee  asked,  with  a  look  of  anxious  inquiry. 

I  answered  him  that  the  deserter  would  be  seen  no  more  in 
La  Fayette. 

"All  right,  massa.  Mistis  nestils  to  him  moas  too  much  enny  how 
and  Cuffee  doesn't  want  any  white  boss  on  dis  place." 

He  piled  up  the  wood  on  his  shoulder  and  moved  to  the  house. 
He  leaned  forward  and  the  wood  struck  the  door.  He  had  hardly 
asked  the  Lieutenant  to  open  it  when  the  young  gentleman  appeared 
in  his  night  clothes.  The  click  of  the  lock  and  gleam  of  the  bright 
gun  barrel  almost  touching  his  face,  paralyzed  him.  "Walk  out,"  I 
said.  "Cuffee,  bring  out  the  gentleman's  clothes,  and  don't  forget 
his  pistols  and  other  property.  He  must  go  with  us,  and  we  have  no 
time  to  lose.  When  the  sun  rises,  the  bushwhackers,  knowing  we 
have  left,  will  take  the  town." 

Pale  and  trembling,  his  lips  white  and  eyes  starting  from  their 
sockets,  the  young  man  read'  his  final  doom  in  the  facts  before  him. 
It  was  not  my  musket  that  frightened  him.  He  saw  the  gallows  just 
behind  me.     His  knees  shook,  teeth  chattered,  his  face  was  of  ashen  hue. 

"Come  out,"  I  said.  Holding  the  door-facing,  and  moving 
helplessly,   he  advanced,  as  I  stepped  backward.     I  whistled.     My 


46  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

comrades  came  instantly.  Cuffee  assisted  the  deserter  in  dressing 
himself,  and  we  were  moving  away  when  the  vigorous  widow,  by  some 
means  became  advised  of  what  was  occurring. 

She  leaped  out  of  the  house  in  her  night  clothes,  and  alternately 
weeping  and  railing  at  us,  demanded  the  release  of  her  "husband." 
She  sought  to  pass  me  and  reach  the  two  men  between  whom  her 
lover  was  rapidly  moving  away. 

I  caught  her  arm  and  asked  if  she  had  "reflected  what  disgrace  she 
was  bringing  upon  her  name  by  this  public  betrayal  of  relations 
subsisting  between  herself  and  that  deserter?  The  neighbors  are 
awake.  See  the  lights  in  that  cottage,  and  how  fires  blaze  this  cold, 
bright  morning  on  many  hearths,  and  yet  here  you  are  in  your  gown 
howling  after  that  deserter.     Your  child  will  be  dishonored  ! ' ' 

The  woman  stopped.  She  covered  her  ears  with  her  hands  and 
stared  fixedly  and  wonderingly  in  my  face. 

"Go  back,"  I  exclaimed,  and  thrusting  her  hand  violently  from 
me,  I  left  her  mute  and  motionless.  I  had  not  gone  very  far,  when, 
looking  back,  the  hapless  widow  had  disappeared.  I  never  saw  her 
afterwards,  and  am  sorry  to  tell  her,  even  now,  since  every  wanderer 
in  Northern  Georgia  will  read  this  book,  that  her  lieutenant  was 
sent  under  guard  to  his  command  which  had  been  transferred  to 
Virginia,  and  there  he  was  tried,  convicted,  and  shot  for  desertion. 
For  obvious  reasons  I  have  not  given  his  name,  once  honored  every- 
where in  the  South,  or  that  of  the  fascinating  dame  who  surely  loved 
him  very  tenderly. 

We  moved  leisurely  toward  Ringgold.  We  had  heard  from  a 
farmers' s  good  wife,  from  whom  we  bought  eggs  for  breakfast,  that 
there  was  a  deserter,  as  she  believed,  secreted  at  a  designated  neigh- 
bor's house.  We  were  then  about  nine  miles  from  La  Fayette.  She 
said  that  the  mistress  of  the  place  had  a  child  not  more  than  ten  or 
fifteen  days  old,  and  that  half  a  dozen  women  were  always  there  to 
serve  up  the  gossip  of  the  country  for  the  delectation  of  the  poor 
mother,  still  bed-ridden. 

"It  will  happen,  therefore,  said  the  good  dame,  that  if  you  search 
the  loft  and  inspect  the  out-houses,  you  will  be  beset  by  the  most 
frightful  scolds  that  ever  assailed  a  soldier.  •  The  women  that  meet 
there  are  unlettered  wives  or  daughters  of  bushwhackers  and  one  or 
two  men  would  not  be  safe  in  attempting  to  discover  the  hiding  place 
of  a  deserter  from  the  southern  army. 

Very  unwillingly  did  the  two  females  who  met  us  at  the  doorway, 
admit  us  into  the  house  designated.  My  force  was  now  reduced  to  six 
men  and  our  appearance  was  not  very  imposing.  But  when  the 
women  saw  that  we  were  armed  and  resolute,  we  were  told  by  a  thin- 
visaged,  long-nosed,  angular  creature  to  "search  and  be  denied!" 
She  shook  at  us  an  old  cotton  umbrella  and  said:  "  Ef  this  'ere 
umbaril  would  shoot  I'd  kill  the  last  denied  one  of  ye  !  I  thot  you  , 
was  a  lot  of  Jeff  Davis'  sneaks  and  spies  to  cum  pokin'  about  under 
people's  beds  and  things!  " 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  47 

Here  a  meek-looking,  tearful  woman  nudged  the  fierce  declaimer 
with  her  elbow.  I  observed  the  movement  and  accepted  the  suggestion 
in  reference  to  the  beds.  But  the  violent  old  harridan  talked  and 
raved  only  the  more  violently  and  volubly  until  she  finally  broke 
down  giving  way  to  floods  of  grief  pumped  up  by  impotent  rage. 

We  peered  into  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  house,  and  looked 
under  every  bed  and  finally  went  away,  still  believing  that  a  deserter 
lurked  about  the  place.  But  we  abandoned  the  search  and  concluded 
at  last  the  bird  had  flown.  We  loitered  for  a  time  at  the  spring  under 
the  hill  near  the  house.  A  barefoot  boy,  a  cunning  little  rascal, 
twelve  or  thirteen  years  old,  was  throwing  pebbles  into  the  spring.  I 
soon  discovered  that  he  knew  what  were  our  purposes,  and  where  the 
deserter  was  concealed.  I  offered  the  urchin  a  silver  half  dollar  to 
tell.  He  yielded  at  last,  unable  to  withstand  a  bribe  involving  the 
instant  delivery  of  a  box  of  percussion  caps.  He  told  me  to  raise  the 
planks  under  his  sick  mother's  bed  and  I  would  find  there  a  man 
whom  he  "didn't  love."  He  said  this  fellow  "had  bin  thar  more'n 
a  year,  off  and  on,  and  my  own  dad,  he's  bin  a  soldiering  sumwhar  in 
Virginney,"  he  believed. 

The  boy  asked  kwhat  we  proposed  to  "do  with  Mr.  Jobson."  I 
asked  why  he  wished  to  know. 

"Oh!  nuffin  much,"  said  the  youth,  "he  aint  my  dad  and  I'm  jest 
tired  of  folks  axin'  me  ef  he  aint." 

We  returned  to  the  house,  encountering,  at  the  entrance  a  fiercer 
volley  of  imprecations  than  before.  Even  the  silent,  weeping  dame, 
whose  pitiful  face  and  heart-rending  sighs  had  excited  our  compassion, 
was  now  voluble  and  defiant. 

"  Here's  six  pore  lone  wimmin  right  'ere  in  this  'ere  naberhood  an' 
nary  a  man  to  take  care  of  us,  and  look  arter  us,  but  one,  and  you 
mean  Jeff  Davisites  want  to  take  him  away." 

She  broke  down  completely,  dissolving  in  a  flood  of  tears,  and 
fell  weeping  beside  Spratling,  who,  with  a  cocked  pistol  in  his  hand, 
disappeared  under  the  sick  woman's  bed.  She  screamed,  the  baby 
shrieked,  the  women  all  crying  out,  danced  hysterically  about  the 
apartment. 

Spratling  lifted  a  plank  from  the  floor   and  ordered  the   "d d 

ground  hog, "  as  he  pronounced  him,  to  '  'crawl  out. ' '  The  cocked  pistol 
nudged  him  under  his  ribs.  He  begged  Spratling  not  to  shoot,  and 
came  forth  submissively  enough.  I  had  obtained  a  pair  of  hand- 
cuffs in  the  jail  at  La  Fayette.  Persuaded  by  Spratling's  repeater,  the 
deserter,  Jobson,  dropped  his  wrists  into  the  iron  bands.  I  locked 
them  and  turning  to  the  petrified,  horror-struck  virago  who  had 
abused  me  so  mercilessly,  I  said  most  harshly : 

"Hold  up  your  hands!  you,  too,  shall  be  hanged  for  harboring 
deserters." 

Her  courage  gave  way.  She  gasped  for  breath,  grew  pale  as  a 
corpse  and  fell  backward,  her  head  striking  the  floor  heavily. 

The  excitement  had  been   too  much  for  her.     I  was  alarmed.     It 


48  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  GAMP  FIRE. 

never  had  occurred  to  me  that  I  would  kill  a  woman.  Of  men  slain 
in  an  open  field  and  fair  fight,  or  to  save  my  own  life  when  assailed 
by  ambushed  enemies,  I  never  recked  a  moment,  but  when  this 
ungainly,  obstreperous  woman  fell,  I  confess  I  shuddered,  and  simply 
because  of  the  sex  of  the  dead.  I  dashed  a  bucket  of  water  in  her 
face  and  when  at  length  she  gasped  for  breath,  I  thrust  a  canteen  of 
whiskey  down  her  throat. 

It  is  a  solemn  fact,  incredible  as  it  may  seem,  and  three  of  my 
comrades  of  that  day,  still  living,  will  attest  this  statement,  that  when 
the  fiery  liquor  began  to  gurgle,  as  it  trickled  and  leaped  along  the 
rough-ribbed  channel  of  her  elongated  oesophagus  and  finally  lighted 
blazing  camp  fires  beneath  her  diaphragm,  she  sighed  and  opened 
her  eyes.  Then  she  looked  up  into  my  face  very  tenderly,  and 
smiled,  oh  !   so  lovingly  !     The  fiery  draught  was 

"  Sweet  as  the  desert  fountain's  wave 
To  lips  just  cooled  in  time  to  save." 

I  rose  up  exasperated  and  wished  at  the  moment  that  death  might 
seize,  and  the  devil  fly  away  with  the  grateful,  whiskey-loving 
creature.  I  jerked  the  canteen  from  beneath  her  toothless  gums. 
Her  lips  collapsed  and  struck  one  another  as  did  the  sides  of  the 
empty  Confederacy  not  very  long  afterwards.  The  secret  of  womanly 
devotion  to  the  ungainly,  cowardly  Jobson  was  disclosed.  He  was  a 
distiller  of  "pine  top"  or  ''gum  log"  whiskey  in  a  cavernous  valley, 
and  a  canteen  would  have  been  more  effective  than  a  repeater  in 
discovering  his  hiding  place. 

Mr.  Jobson  fettered,  I  ordered  my  men  to  march. 

After  the  annoyances  and  excitement  of  the  day  there  was  a  radiant 
serenity  of  light  crowning  the  hills,  and  glowing  at  sunset  about  more 
distant  mountains,  that  throbbed  in  its  intensity.  It  was  divinely 
restful,  like  the  passion  and  peace  of  love  when  it  has  all  to  adore  and 
nothing  to  desire.  The  splendor  and  beauty  of  mountains  crowned 
by  the  glories  of  the  setting  sun  and  contemplated  through  this 
transparent  atmosphere  were  matchless.  There  was  a  gleam  of  divine 
glory  in  aspects  of  nature  about  me  and  I  basked  in  the  sweet  invig- 
orating air  that  was  like  a  breath  of  Paradise. 

Ten  davs  later  Jobson  was  tried,  convicted,  and  shot  as  a  deserter. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Soldierly  Courage. — Another  Deserter. — A  Mountain  Beauty. — A  Dying  Soldier. — 
"He  took  lip  his  Bed  and  Walked." — .Spratling  falls  in  Love. — Ash-Cakes. — 
Ellison  Escapes. 

When  my  brigade  was  going  into  action  at  Chattanooga,  September, 
1863,  Tom  Ellison,  a  private  from  Coffeeville,  Texas,  grew  very- 
sick.  Weak  nerves  caused  his  fall.  He  was  simply  paralyzed  and 
helpless  from  insane  terror.  I  have  seen  brave  men,  so  esteemed  at 
home,  and  because  of  courage  illustrated  in  deadly  personal  conflicts, 
shrink  into  absolute  helplessness  when  first  moving  under  fire  and 
advancing  upon  serried  ranks  of  armed  battalions.  Again  I  have  seen 
those  bravest  in  battle,  and  then  utterly  oblivious  of  themselves,  who 
shrank  timidly  from  a  personal  rencontre.  Fear  is  an  unaccountable 
passion,  and  I  am  persuaded,  after  no  little  experience  in  fighting,  as 
a  scout,  as  a  veteran,  and  as  a  private  citizen,  that  courage  is  com- 
monly the  fear  of  being  thought  a  coward.  Few  are  wholly  devoid, 
like  General  Forrest,  of  the  passion  of  fear,  and  the  bravest  are 
sometimes  hopelessly  victimized,  when  they  least  expect  it,  by  absurd 
terror. 

But  this  man  Ellison,  in  the  presence  of  danger  so  imposing  and 
sublime  that  most  soldiers,  in  its  face,  absolutely  forget  their  own 
identity,  becoming  wholly  reckless,  shrank  down  in  his  place  in  the 
line  of  battle,  and  no  force  or  danger  or  sense  of  shame  could  drive 
him  forward.  Afterward,  and  from  that  day,  he  was  dangerously 
sick.  Doctors  said  his  nervous  system  was  wholly  shattered  by 
terror. 

When  our  army  retreated  from  Missionary  Ridge,  in  November, 
1S63,  Ellison  was  left  sick  within  the  Federal  lines.  His  comrades 
said  he  had  taken  the  "iron-clad"  oath  of  fidelity  to  the  Union,  gone 
north,  and  died.  But  soon  after  we  had  captured  Jobson,  a  country 
dame  informed  us  that  a  deserter  was  sojourning  at  a  neighbor's  house 

4 


50  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

hard  by  Jobson's  den.  We  were  especially  anxious  to  capture  this 
faithless  Confederate,  because,  assured  of  encountering  and  mortally 
offending  one  or  more  of  the  horrible  women  who  sought  so  earnestly 
to  prevent  the  extraction  of  Jobson  from  his  subterranean  hiding  place. 
But  greater  became  our  anxiety  to  secure  the  deserter  when  informed 
that  he  was  a  Texan.  Our  brigade  was  from  that  commonwealth  and 
felt  itself  disgraced  that  a  citizen  of  Texas  proved  false  to  the  cause 
we  had  espoused. 

We  surrounded  the  house*  designated  by  our  informant  before  day- 
dawn,  that  none  who  slept  within  might  leave  without  our  assent. 
At  sunrise  I  knocked  at  the  door.  Heavy  footsteps  of  my  men  and 
clanking  of  our  arms  at  once  extorted  groans  from  the  sick  man.  I 
did  not,  of  course,  know  who  he  was  and  only  that  he  pretended  to  be 
suffering  fearfully,  and  yet  had  walked  during  the  week,  to  Chattanooga 
and  back,  quite  forty  miles,  in  a  single  day.  I  knew  these  to  be 
absolute  facts  and  am  sure  that  he  would  have  deemed  me  a  heart- 
less wretch  if  he  had  beheld  significant  smiles  overspreading  mine  and 
Spratling's  faces  when  we  heard  his  heart-rending  groans  and  pitiful 
cries  for  relief. 

Sure  enough,  when  a  pretty  girl  admitted  us,  she  asked  us  to  step 
lightly,  saying,  "There's  a  very  sick  man  within.  Any  noise  distresses 
him.  He  is  very  sick  and  nervously  sensitive.  Step  lightly.  I  am 
not  sure  he  will  be  glad  to  see  you.  He  is  from  Texas  and  must  be 
true  to  the  South." 

The  bright-eyed,  cunning  woman  smiled,  bent  her  knees,  her  body 
went  down  about  four  inches,  her  head  was  projected  slightly,  and 
she  pulled  gently  upward  at  each  side  of  her  homespun,  striped  dress- 
skirt.  Such  was  her  salutation,  as  she  stepped  lightly  backward, 
inviting  us  to  enter.  The  details  show  that  a  veritable  queen  of  fashion, 
among  hoi  aristoi,  could  hardly  have  greeted  us  in  a  more  approved 
manner.  Then,  too,  she  smiled  as  blandly  and  naturally  and 
graciously  as  if  she  were  even  delighted  because  of  our  coming. 

What  social  triumphs  this  cunning,  pretty  creature,  whose  form  was 
perfect  as  her  face  was  fair,  features  regular,  and  eyes  brilliant,  might 
have  achieved  if  she  had  not  been  born  and  reared  in  comparative 
poverty  among  the  mountains  and  sand-hills  and  pine-covered  straw 
fields  of  Northern  Georgia. 

I  could  not  help  discovering  in  the  fascinations  of  the  laughing, 
youthful,  and  beautiful  woman  very  potent  apologies  for  the  unearthly 
groans  and  execrations  that  proceeded  from  the  apartment  of  the 
dying  (?)  soldier.     I  whispered  to  Spratling  : 

"No  wonder  he  is  dying.  A  true  soldier  could  afford  to  die  for  a 
woman  like  that.  I  don't  blame  the  fellow,  even  though  he  be  a 
Texan,  for  desertion." 

"I  don't  see  how  he  could  well  help  it,"  was  Spratling's  generous 
response,  and  Spratling  still  stared  vacantly  at  the  doorway  within 
which  the  pretty  sprite  had  disappeared. 

Evidently  the  great,  rude  soldier  was  the  victim  of  the  winning, 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  51 

merry  eyes  and  sunny  smiles  of  the  meteor-like  vision  of  beauty  that 
flashed  so  suddenly  across  his  pathway. 

What  was  our  amazement  on  entering  the  sick-room  to  behold  the 
familiar  face  of  our  late  "dead"  comrade,  Ellison.  He,  too,  was 
startled.  He  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes.  He  rose  up  in  bed. 
He  shrank  back  abashed.  A  death-like  pallor  overspread  his  face. 
He  had  evidently  been  dreaming  of  scenes  in  which  the  chief  actor 
sits  on  his  coffin  while  a  dozen  soldiers,  half  of  them  using  muskets 
charged  with  blank  cartridges,  that  no  one  of  them  may  know  who 
does  murder,  fire  upon  the  deserter.  -  Such  executions  are  very  frequent 
in  civil  wars.  There  were  northern  men  in  southern,  and  Southerners 
by  birth  in  northern  armies.  To  desert  a  cause  which  it  cost  so  much  to 
uphold,  and  abandon  an  undertaking  which  seemed  hopeless,  and  more 
than  purposeless  to  those  who  revered  the  Federal  Union,  was  easy. 
Multitudes  were  fighting  against  their  original  convictions  of  duty 
and  right,  and  others  encountered  dearest  friends  and  kindred  on 
bloody  battle-fields.  That  desertions  in  such  a  war  were  numberless 
surprised  no  one,  and  the  very  greatness  of  their  numbers  rendered 
severity  and  certainty  of  punishment  the  more  necessary. 

No  wonder  Ellison  shuddered.  He  knew  that  of  all  men  Spratling 
and  I  would  be  most  anxious  to  punish  one  who  had  brought  disgrace 
upon  our  brigade.  He  groaned  in  an  agony  of  terror.  I  could  not 
help  pitying  him.  But  the  necessities  of  the  case  were  inexorable. 
I  ordered  him  to  rise  and  dress  himself.  He  groaned  and  wept  and 
insisted  it  was  impossible.  I  drew  a  gleaming  knife  and  holding  his 
head  said  that  if  he  did  not  obey  instantly  I  would  cut  off  both  his 
ears,  and  if  he  still  refused  I  would  order  my  men  to  fire  on  him. 
Groaning  and  weeping  like  a  pitiful  baby,  he  crawled  out  of  bed  and 
with  trembling  hands  and  quivering  limbs  dressed  himself  and  sank 
upon  the  floor  exhausted  by  his  terror. 

"You  may  rest  a  moment,"  I  said,  "but  you  shall  march  thirty 
miles  to-day.  Bushwhackers  are  on  our  track.  We  must  take  the 
woods.  Be  cheerful ;  order  breakfast  for  all  of  us.  We  will  pay  for 
it  in  silver,  and  I  think" — the  wretch  was  fumbling  with  a  pair  of 
crutches — "you  can  leave  your  crutches.  You  didn't  take  them  with 
you  when  you  went  to  Chattanooga  and  back,  last  Tuesday." 

Poor  Ellison  !  I  was  sorry  for  him.  He  stared  at  me  a  moment, 
and  then  fell  over  backward,  shocked  and  swooning.  I  baptised  his 
face  in  whiskey,  pouring  a  little  in  his  open  mouth,  and  his  senses 
returning,  he  looked  vacantly  around  the  room  for  a  moment,  and  said  : 

"I  am  ready.     Tell  me  what  I  must  do." 

I  repeated  the  suggestion  as  to  the  necessity  for  our  immediate 
departure,  and  ordering  one  of  my  men  to  hand-cuff  and  take  charge 
of  Ellison,  felt  that  the  game  was  my  own. 

Spratling  had  modestly  suggested  his  own  willingness  to  see  that  we 
had  an  early  breakfast.  In  social  life  he  was  unique.  He  talked 
little  and  rarely  laughed ;  but  if  his  stories  were  brief,  they  were  most 
amusing,  and  the  more,  because  of  his  profound  solemnity. 


52  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

He  was  a  fine-looking,  blue-eyed,  light-haired,  good-natured  young 
fellow,  six  feet  four  inches  high,  of  infinite  pluck,  enormous  strength, 
and  perfect  truthfulness.  He  was  born  and  reared  wholly  innocent  of 
contamination  by  books,  in  the  mountains  of  Tennessee,  had  migrated 
in  his  early  youth  to  Texas,  and  came  back  a  soldier,  twenty-eight 
years  old,  with  Granbury's  brigade,  in  1S61,  to  his  old  home. 

I  assented,  of  course,  to  Spratling's  proposition  to  have  breakfast 
prepared  for  us  and  went  out  to  see  that  no  one  approached,  and 
station  a  sentinel  at  a  proper,  point  of  observation.  Spratling,  I  dis- 
covered, was  in  the  little  kitchen  in  the  yard  with  the  pretty  maiden 
and  her  mother.  He  was  evidently  pointing  towards  Ellison's  bed- 
room, and  telling  of  the  great  miracle  wrought,  and  how  it  was 
effected,  when  poor  Ellison  heroically  put  aside  his  crutches  and 
walked  before  a  persuasive  musket.  Bessie  Starnes — I  learned  the 
name  soon  afterward  from  Spratling — laughed  so  immoderately  and 
neglected  culinary  duties  so  sadly,  that,  when  I  drew  nearer,  her 
mother  was  chiding  her.  Finally  the  good  dame  said,  "  Mr.  Spratling, 
if  you  want  breakfast,  you  must  quit  spinnin'  them  funny  yarns. 
That  gal  thar  alius  was  a  rebel,  and  I  aint  mad  about  it,  and  now  she's 
clean  gone  daft  because  you  tell  her  about  the  devilment  you've  done 
and  because  she  thinks  you  a  game,  true  soldier,  and  not  one  of  them 
thievin'  deserters  like  that  hand-cuffed  wretch  sittin'  at  the  gate  thar 
and  aweepin'  like  his  heart  would  break.  I  do  hate  the  likes  o'  him, 
and  Bessie  loves  a  brave  feller. ' ' 

Then  the  good  woman  suddenly  checked  herself  and  cast  a  most 
inquisitive  glance  at  her  pretty  daughter  gazing  steadfastly  in  Sprat- 
ling's  honest,-  earnest,  clear  blue  eyes. 

He  began  to  tell  of  the  fascinations  of  his  wild  home-life  on  cattle- 
flecked  plains  of  Texas.  Bessie  listened  breathlessly  and  so  intently  that 
the  mother's  warning  was  unheeded,  and  roasting  potatoes  were  utterly 
forgotten.  The  mother  gazed  in  her  face  again,  as  if  to  read  her 
inmost  thoughts,  and  sighed.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she  feared  her 
child's  fidelity  to  plighted  troth  was  endangered.  Evidently  the 
mother  ascribed  to  the  daughter  the  feelings  which  I  traced  and 
discovered  in  Spratling's  absent-mindedness.  He  had  at  least  confessed, 
for  the  first  time,  boundless  admiration  for  a  woman. 

The  mother  seemed  to  brood  over  the  facts'  before  her.  She  was 
silent,  and  talked  and  smiled  no  more.  What  evil  in  her  eyes 
threatened  her  winsome  child?  She  devoted  herself  the  more 
earnestly  to  accustomed  tasks.  She  kneaded  corn  meal  dough,  adding 
salt,  in  a  poplar  tray.  When  it  was  of  proper  consistency  she  made 
round,  flat  "pones,"  almost  an  inch  and  a  half  in  the  middle.  These 
were  deposited  in  the  midst  of  the  fire  on  the  hot  hearthstones,  and 
covered  with  red  hot  hickory  ashes.  The  bread  was  thus  roasted. 
When  extracted,  piping  hot,  it  was  the  famous  negro  "ash-cake,"  to 
be  eaten  with  butter  and  milk.  Each  of  us  ate  one  of  these  ash-cakes, 
weighing  half  a  pound,  and  drank  a  quart  of  milk.  Broiled  spare- 
ribs,  biscuits,  and  coffee  made  the  breakfast  perfect  in  a  soldier's  eyes. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  53 

Bessie  served  us  at  table  and  I  am  sure  that  Spratling  never  knew 
what  he  ate  or  whether  he  ate  at  all.  Bessie  always  stood,  by  accident 
of  course,  where  she  could  look  into  Spratling's  face,  and  such  a  feast 
of  love  and  luxuries  was  never  spread.  Spratling,  a  very  cannibal 
with  his  eyes,  was  devouring  the  charming  girl. 

Hebe  never  moved  more  daintily  or  served  at  Olympic  feasts  with 
more  graceful  decorum  than  did  pretty  Bessie  Starnes,  when  gliding 
noiselessly  about  the  rude  table  spread  for  rebel  scouts. 

Bessie  we  knew  to  be  a  devout  rebel.  The  mother,  when-  we  paid 
for  the  breakfast,  in  silver  half  dollars,  was  moved  to  confess  her 
devotion  to  the  Confederacy,  and  ask  us  to  call  whenever  it  was  pos- 
sible. The  head  of  the  household,  in  Oglethorpe  County,  below  our 
lines,  when  our  army  retreated,  found  it  difficult  to  secure  access  to 
his  home.  In  his  behalf  we  promised  Mrs.  Starnes  to  intervene  when 
we  returned  to  the  army. 

We  left  Spratling  and  Bessie  at  the  gate.  Spratling  was  holding  her 
hand. 

"Join  us,"  I  said,  when  I  passed  him,  and  when  going  away,  "at 
the  'Big  Spring,'  at  noon  to-day." 

Bessie  gave  me  an  astonished,  but  as  I  thought,  a  grateful  look, 
Spratling's  face  was  slightly  flushed.  I  pressed  Bessie's  hand,  and 
with  Ellison  before  me,  walked  away  toward  Cleburne's  encampment. 

Conscious  of  the  honest  sincerity  of  Spratling's  devotion  and  of  the 
depth  and  strength  of  his  affections,  I  was  anxious  to  be  assured  that 
his  love  was  requited.  If  Bessie  rejected  his  proffered  love  and 
fidelity,  I  believed  he  would  be  utterly  unmanned.  In  any  event,  I 
so  dreafled  the  result  that  I  could  not  refrain  from  asking  him,  when 
we  were  alone  at  noon,  "whether  Bessie  could  be  trusted." 

He  evidently  divined  the  true  meaning  of  this  modest  inquiry,  and 
answered  : 

"Of  course;  but  I  must  go  there  again  as  soon  as  you  can  spare 
me." 

Each  relying  upon  the  other  as  confidently  as  upon  himself,  and 
each  having  often  imperiled  his  life  that  the  other  might  live ;  insep- 
arable as  Spratling  and  I  had  been  from  the  hour  that  Jefferson  Davis 
lighted  the  match  at  Fort  Sumter  that  set  a  nation  aflame ;  made 
friends  by  common  toils  and  dangers  and  by  indestructible  confidence  ; 
still  Spratling  never  alluded  to  Mamie  Hughes,  and  the  word  "Bessie" 
never  passed  my  lips.  I  recognized  the  sanctity  that  invested  the 
name  in  Spratling's  eyes,  and  he  knew  that  woman  alone  may  enter 
the  gate-way  to  that  garden  of  the  affections  in  which  the  sensitive 
love-plant  blossoms  and  bears  most  delicious  fruit.  f 

Anticipating  somewhat  the  order  of  events,  it  is  proper  to  state  that 
Ellison,  our  prisoner,  was  tried  by  a  drum -head  court-martial  for 
desertion,  and  properly  acquitted.  He  had  been  left  sick  in  bed  in 
the  enemy's  lines,  and  was  never  a  deserter.  He  returned  to  his 
place  in  the  ranks,  and  there  was  no  better  soldier  from  that  day  forth 
than   Ellison.      He   lived,    it  is  true,  in  a  sort  of  trance,    was  always 


54  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

silent  and  abstracted,  obeying  orders  mechanically.  Some  weeks  after 
his  acquittal  and  after  events  here  recited  occurred,  Spratling  was 
sitting  beside  me  in  our  tent,  in  front  of  General  Granbury's,  when 
Ellison,  with  his  accustomed  anxious,  feverish  look,  passed  us  very 
hurriedly. 

Spratling,  pointing  towards  him,  said : 

"  I  amtsorry  for  that  poor  fellow,  and  for  myself  that  I  aided  in 
arresting  and  frightening  him.  True,  we  secured  testimony  that  saved 
his  life,  but  I  sometimes  think  that  we  caused  him  to  become  the  silent, 
nervous  hypochondriac  that  he  is,  and  then,  do  you  know  that  he 
loved  Bessie  Starnes  to  madness.  He  thinks  I  robbed  him  of  her 
love.     I  will  tell  him  everything,  some  day." 

There  was  infinite  sadness,  to  be  accounted  for  hereafter,  in  Sprat- 
ling's  low,  melancholy  tones  when  the  last  sentence  fell  from  his  lips. 
I  had  heard  of  the  deep  shadow  that  fell  across  the  sunshine  that  once 
lighted  up  with  gladness  his  eyes  and  face,  and  warmed  his  generous, 
loving  heart. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


The  Underground  Railway. — A  Desperate  Adventure. — Secession  in  Kentucky  and 
Tennessee. — In  a  Bushwhackers'  Den. — An  Heroic  Woman. — The  Catastro- 
phe.— A  Graveyard  Scene. — The  Ghost. — A  '•  Nptiss." — A  Woman's  Eloquence 
and  Matchless  Patriotism. — A  Monument  to  her  Fame. 

To  discover  agencies  employed  in  effecting  escapes  by  deserters,  was 
eminently  desirable.  Within  the  hour  that  the  exit  of  a  fugitive  from 
our  army  was  discovered,  his  capture,  we  had  learned,  was  impossible. 
He  seemed  spirited  away.  There  was  a  mystery  about  it  that  excited 
keen  inquiry  and  not  a  little  anxiety  among  our  commanders.  I  was 
instructed  to  put  a  period,  if  possible,  to  the  process  and  resort  to  any 
means  I  might  approve  and  employ  any  force  required.  I  repaired  at 
once  to  General  Cleburne,  who  was  my  personal  friend,  and  said  to 
him  that  the  easiest  and  surest,  if  most  dangerous,  mode  of  ascertain- 
ing the  facts  would  be  found  by  my  own  desertion.  He  approved  the 
proposition,  and,  General  Johnston  assenting,  I  selected  Doc  Nooe, 
or  Noah,  a  Kentuckian,  as  the  sharer  of  my  toils  and  of  the  hazards 
of  the  undertaking.  He  knew  leading  men  in  many  portions  of  the 
Dark  and  Bloody  Ground,  as  Spratling  did  not,  and  when  questioned 
in  reference  to  people  or  localities,  would  commit  no  blunders.  He 
had  been  two  years  a  citizen  of  Texas,  and  I  knew  him  thoroughly. 
He  was  courageous,  honest,  and  a  devout  believer  in  the  justice  of  the 
Confederate  cause.  He  loved  the  excitement  of  battle  and  was 
thoroughly  tired  of  idleness  in  winter  quarters.  If  arrested,  he  was 
1o  be  the  tale-bearer  to  account  for  our  flight  and  assure  our  captors 
that  our  sole  purpose  was  to  return  to  our  old  homes  and  kindred  in 
Kentucky.  But  for  this,  I  would  perhaps  have  preferred  Spratling  as 
my  coadjutor  in  this  scheme  of  desperate  hazard. 


56  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

With  these  general  plans  defined,  Nooe  and  I  left  our  lines  about 
day-dawn.  Even  before  sunrise,  while  moving  rapidly  along  a  little 
path  leading  toward  Chattanooga  and  passing  between  Villanow  and 
Ringgold  Gap,  we  were  hailed  by  a  watcher  in  a  thicket  by  the  road- 
side. We  stated  at  once  the  purpose  of  our  flight.  There  was  no 
danger  incurred.  If  our  captors  were  Confederates,  we  would  be 
taken  to  Cleburne's  or  Johnston's  headquarters  and  tried,  convicted, 
and  shot — with  blank  cartridges.  If  our  captors  were  Federal  scouts, 
we  were  certainly  safe  if  our  statements  were  accepted  as  truthful. 
We  were  hastily  questioned  and  such  was  the  overweening  confidence 
of  the  common  soldier  of  the  North  in  the  supreme,  palpable  justice 
of  his  cause  that  he  never  doubted  when  even  hardened,  fighting 
rebels  pretended  to  approve  it.  In  -  the  loyalists'  eyes  it  was  almost 
impossible  for  a  Kentuckian  to  be  disloyal.  There  were  genuine 
adherents,  it  was  supposed,  of  Davis,  Yancey,  Ben  Hill,  and  Bob 
Toombs,  away  down  south,  but  very  few,  it  was  thought,  in  Kentucky 
and  Tennessee. 

At  the  rendezvous  of  Federal  scouts  and  of  bushwhackers  not  far 
away,  to  which  Ave  were  hurried,  Ave  Avere  rigidly  questioned.  A 
dozen  men  stood  around  and  listened,  intently  scanning  our  faces. 
The  sun  was  above  the  horizon,  but  its  direct  rays  did  not  illumine 
our  resting  place  till  it  was  high  in  the  heavens.  In  the  gloom  of  the 
deep  valley  and  beneath  a  great  projecting  stone  that  concealed 
perfectly  the  cavity  in  the  mountain-side  occupied  by  these  daring 
men,  Ave  underwent  this  searching  examination.  The  Kentuckian, 
Nooe,  never  hesitated.  He  never  once  faltered.  His  courage  and 
intelligence  alike  Avere  faultless.  The  most  keen-sighted — and  bush- 
AA'hackers  were  more  apt  to  suspect  the  honesty  of  others  than  Federal 
soldiers — were  thoroughly  satisfied  of  our  perfect  integrity.  Every 
kindness  was  shown  us.  Cigars,  liquors,  and  luxuries  amazed  and 
delighted  us.  We  ate  and  drank  prudently.  Our  lives  AArere  at 
hazard.     Any  blunder,  even  the  slightest,  would  be  instantly  fatal. 

The  hiding  place  was  wisely  chosen.  No  visible  road  or  path 
approached  it.  The  beaten  track  we  followed  led  near  and  beyond 
it.  We  bent  Ioav  beneath  dense  undergrowth,  and  diverging  abruptly 
from  the  path,  Ave  found,  not  far  away,  at  the  head  of  the  deep  ravine, 
the  narrow  entrance,  between  great  stones,  to*  the  broad  deep  chasm 
beneath  the  northern  side  of  the  mountain.  If  enemies  came  from 
the  south,  occupants  of  the  rendezvous  could  descend  into  the  ravine 
and  escape  unseen  ;  if  from  the  north,  they  could  ascend  the  cliffs 
and  pursuit  Avas  almost  impossible.  Sentinels,  at  each  point  of 
approach,  Ave  re  always  on  duty.  Each  week,  late  at  night,  guides, 
with  deserters  Avho  had  been  gathered  in,  went  forth  to  Chattanooga. 
The  residence  of  Mrs.  Shields,  whose  business  it  AATas  to  provide 
deserters  with  food  and  lodging,  Avas  the  last  resting  place  of  deserters 
entering  the  Federal  outposts. 

We  remained  in  the  busliAvhackers'  den  forty-eight  hours,  when  Ave 
were  consigned   to  the  care  of  a  guide  and  went  directly  tOAvard  the 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  57 

nearest  pickets  of  Sherman's  army.  We  had  studied  meanwhile,  as- 
carefully  as  possible,  the  topography  of  the  country  and  watched  every 
landmark  closely,  that  we  might  make  no  mistake  when  we  returned 
to  requite  with  bullets  every  kindness  shown  us  by  our  generous, 
confiding  hosts. 

How  infinitely  brutal  and  brutalizing  is  war !  Lying,  stealing, 
treason,  and  murder  become  foremost  of  fine  arts. 

We  arrived  at  Mrs.  Shields'  covert,  with  our  guide,  before  daylight. 
Her  husband  was  absent,  serving  as  a  blacksmith,  in  Chattanooga. 
Both  were  living,  I  am  told,  not   many  weeks  ago. 

She  was  bright-eyed,  shrewd,  fearless,  and  active — eminently  well 
fitted  for  the  position  she  occupied.  How  keenly  and  earnestly  she 
scanned  our  faces  at  breakfast !  I  had  little  to  say,  while  Nooe 
talked  volubly  of  Kentucky  and  of  anticipated  delights  that  would 
attend  his  arrival  at  home.  He  never  seemed  conscious  of  the 
presence  or  suspicious  watchfulness  of  the  adroit,  wary,  fiery,  little 
woman.  We  ate  ravenously  and  were  greatly  fatigued.  Therefore, 
we  stated  to  our  guide,  that  we  must  sleep  a  few  hours,  before  the 
resumption  of  our  march,  and  that  he  might  return,  if  he  chose,  to 
the  bushwhackers'  rendezvous.     He  assented. 

We  were  left  alone  at  Mrs.  Shields'. 

During  the  day  we  discovered  that  in  the  smoke-house,  pantry,  and 
in  the  loft,  rich  and  abundant  stores  and  supplies  of  all  descriptions 
were  deposited  by  Federal  authority,  for  the  use  of  bushwhackers  and 
deserters.     Federal  picket  lines  were  only  two  miles  distant. 

Just  before  sunset,  a  little  boy,  when  we  had  bidden  Mrs.  Shields 
an  affectionate  adieu,  was  assigned  the  needless  task  of  leading  us  to 
the  nearest  pickets.  The  boy  was  lazy  and  stupid.  We  gave  him  a 
few  small  coins,  and  telling  him  we  could  find  our  way  without  his 
assistance,  induced  his  return. 

Before  leaving  our  headquarters  we  had  so  ordered  events  that  a 
cavalry  force  of  thirty  men  should  come  to  meet  us,  by  way  of  Ring- 
gold Gap,  at  a  little  church  within  ten  or  twelve  miles  of  Mrs. 
Shields'. 

It  was  now  very  dark,  and  we  soon  lost  our  way  and  even  feared 
that  we  might  encounter  Federal  soldiers  at  every  turn  of  the  road. 
One's  fancy,  stimulated  by  reasonable  apprehensions  of  danger  and  by 
darkness,  becomes  singularly  productive  of  causes  of  alarm.  Great 
stones  and  broken  trees  became  silent,  watchful  horsemen,  and  shadows 
made  by  clouds  and  uncertain  moonlight,  falling  through  tree-tops, 
became  ghostly  wanderers,  resting  upon  dense  undergrowth  along 
either  side  of  our  devious  pathway.  Our  senses  were  keenly  alive  to 
the  slightest  impressions.  Nooe  detected,  telling  me  of  it  in  low 
tones,  a  faint,  unsteady  light  not  far  from  us.  We  feared  we  had  lost 
our  reckoning  and  discovered  the  resting  place  of  a  body  of  Federal 
pickets. 

The  forest  was  unbroken.  No  weary,  somnolent  winds,  wooing 
sleep  in  silent  solitudes,  wandered  .by  to  disturb  death-like  repose  that 


58  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

rested  upon  the  great  trees  and  stilled  the  pulse-beats  of  the  voiceless 
woods. 

Discovering  at  length  that  the  pale,  uncertain  light  came  through 
crevices  in  a  wretched  log  hut,  we  approached  it  very  slowly  and  very 
cautiously.  No  sound  came  from  within,  and  at  length  we  were  satis- 
fied that  the  cabin  was  unoccupied.  The  fitful  light  we  had  seen  was 
produced  by  an  expiring  blaze  burning  very  low  on  the  hearthstone. 
We  went  about  the  cabin  and  finally  called  out,  "Who  is  here?" 
Again  and  again,  when  we  called  aloud,  there  was  no  response.  We 
rebuilt  the  fire  and  found  every  evidence  of  the  recent  and  hurried 
abandonment  of  the  house.  Roasted  potatoes  had  been  left  on  the 
hearth  and  two  tin  plates  and  knives  and  forks  on  the  table.  A 
blanket  and  mean  bed-clothes  were  on  a  sort  of  bedstead  attached  to 
the  walls  of  the  hut.  At  length  we  discovered  blood  stains  on  the 
floor.     A  dead  body  had  evidently  been  dragged  out  at  the  doorway. 

It  was  now  midnight.  There  was  nothing  to  detain  us.  Hunger 
impelled  us  to  take  the  potatoes,  and  we  resumed  our  journey.  The 
very  stillness  of  the  forest  made  me  whisper  to  Nooe : 

"Nature  is  shocked,  stupefied,  and  silenced  by  witnessing  the 
ghastly  deed  done  here  to-day  in  this  wretched  cabin.  Bushwhackers 
have  been  here.     It  is  their  hideous  work." 

We  passed  near  a  little  faded  white  church.  The  moon  had  risen 
and  was  now  shining  lustrously.  We  could  see  distinctly  the  few 
white  gravestones  in  the  church-yard,  and  fifty  steps  away,  white 
palings,  tipped  with  black,  enclosed  many  graves,  and  now  and  then 
a  rail  pen  encompassed  some  freshly  raised  hillock. 

"See,"  I  said,  "even  here  there  are  newly  made  graves  and  where  - 
ever  our  footsteps  lead,  we  soldiers  are  only  digging  graves.  Mighty 
armies  are  engaged  in  this  mournful  task.  Bushwhackers  and  free- 
booters and  scouts — all  of  us — are  now  grave-diggers.  I  am  sure, 
when  looking  upon  these  freshly  reared,  narrow  mounds  over  which  I 
have  been  walking  every  day  since  the  spring  of  1861,  that  blessed 
mother  earth,  stricken  with  grief,  always  heaves  a  little  sigh  when  one 
of  her  children  falls." 

I  had  hardly  spoken,  when  a  white  figure  slowly  rose  up  in  the  misty 
moonlight  out  of  a  grave  in  the  remotest  corner  of  this  "  God's  acre." 
Very  slowly  it  came  forth,  as  it  seemed  to  us,  out  of  the  earth.  It 
stood  still  a  moment,  as  if  unused  to  the  dim  shadows  of  the  silent 
night,  and  then  glided  slowly  and  silently,  as  if  moved  by  the  lazy 
winds,  down  the  declivity. 

It  soon  passed  from  sight. 

Nooe  and  I  stood  still,  staring  with  wide  open  eyes  in  stupefied 
silence  in  the  direction  the  ghostly  apparition  had  moved. 

"What,  in  God's  name,  is  that?"  he  asked. 

"Let's  follow  it,  and  see,"  I  answered.  The  suggestion  restored 
manhood  and  excited  a  share  of  that  ardor  springing  from  the  presence 
of  danger  over  which  courage  is  delighted  to  triumph.  r     . 

We  walked  rapidly  in  the  direction  taken  by  the  seeming  shadow  of 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  59 

death  escaped  from  a  newly  made  grave.  As  we  passed  the  grave,  we 
saw  that  no  grass  had  grown  over  its  little  hillock  and  the  clods  had 
not  been  dissolved  in  nature's  tears. 

"Perhaps,"  I  said,  "somebody  has  been  buried  alive  and  we  have 
witnessed  this  strange  resurrection." 

"God  knows,"  answered  Nooe  ;  "I  only  know  if  I  had  not  started 
to  find  out,  I  would  gladly  go  back." 

We  slackened  our  speed  when  we  again  caught  sight  of  the  slowly 
moving  figure. 

"Who  is  that?"  exclaimed  Nooe,  in  nervous,  quick  tones. 

The  apparition  turned  and  stood  still.  We  advanced  very  slowly. 
I  could  hear  distinctly  the  beating  of  my  oppressed  heart  and  think 
that  my  hair  stood  on  end.     Nooe  hesitated. 

"  Shall  we  go  on?"  he  asked,  in  unconsciously  uttered  words. 

Desperate  rather  than  heroic,  I  answered,  "What,  Nooe,  do  we 
fear?" 

And  yet  in  all  my  life,  in  a  charge  upon  serried  ranks  of  a  solid 
phalanx,  scaling  a  fort's  walls  as  leader  of  a  forlorn-hope,  or  meeting  a 
cavalry  charge,  or  when  storming  a  battery,  I  had  never  been  victim- 
ized by  such  unseemly  terror. 

"Surely,"  I  thought,  "graveyards  do  yawn  and  discontented  spirits, 
in  these  troublous  times,  do  revisit  the  land  of  the  living." 

We  were  now  advancing  very  slowly  and  within  ten  paces  of  the 
apparition,  standing  still  and  facing  us  in  a  narrow  path  hedged  in  by 
dense  thickets  and  overhanging  tree-tops.  Little,  tremulous,  narrow 
streaks  of  pale  moonlight,  penetrating  dense  shadows  of  forest  foliage, 
fell  upon  the  white-robed  figure  before  us. 

In  husky  tones,  Nooe  asked  : 

'  'Who — what  are  you  ? ' ' 

There  was  an  age  of  silence,  deeper  than  that  of  the  breathless 
woods  or  of  footfalls  of  the  ghastly  shadow  before  us.  Like  some 
great  sorrow  or  weight  of  intolerable  grief,  this  death-like  stillness 
bore  me  down,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  in  the  presence  of  a  living  death. 

The  answer  came  at  last.  In  low,  tremulous,  painful  accents  of 
unutterable  anguish,  a  woman's  voice  responded  : 

"I  am  most  miserable,  and  helpless,  and  heart-broken  of  women." 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence. 

"Why  are  you  here,  and  why  in  that  graveyard  at  this  late  hour?  " 
I  asked. 

"We  fled  from  bushwhackers  in  East  Tennessee  and  only  two  days 
ago  succeeded,  by  the  merest  accident  and  good  fortune,  as  we 
thought,  in  passing  through  Sherman's  lines.  My  husband  was  one 
of  a  squad  of  Confederate  soldiers  ordered  to  execute  the  decree  of  a 
court-martial  at  Greenville  and  hang  an  aged  man  who  burned  some 
railway  bridge.  His  neighbors  and  friends  swore  they  would  avenge 
the  'patriot's'  death.  They  resolved  to  kill  ever}-  person  who  was  a 
participant  in  the  taking  of  that  old  man's  life.  Finding  that  we  were 
nowhere  safe  in  East  Tennessee,  and  having  been  twice  shot  at,  once 


60  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

in  our  own  home  at  night,  we  came  south.  But  ministers  of 
vengeance  were  on  our  track.  The  worst  of  bushwhackers  about 
Chattanooga  are  my  old  neighbors.  I  know  them  well.  We  were 
resting  at  the  little  cabin  on  the  roadside,  on  that  hill,  there,  when 
three  of  those  terrible  men  from  Green  County — I  recognized  them — 
rode  up  to  the  door,  and  in  my  presence,  shot  my  husband  to  death. 

"Whether  this  happened  to-day,  or  yesterday,  or  a  week  ago,  I 
cannot  tell.  I  know  that  people  came,  dug  a  shallow  grave,  and 
buried  him  in  a  blanket,  and  left  me  here.  I  only  woke  from  a  trance 
a  little  while  ago,  and  when  I  looked  up,  I  saw  the  gravestones  about 
me,  and  the  little  church  on  the  hill,  and  the  path  that  led  to  the 
wretched  cabin  where  we  had  rested  a  day. 

"I  am  very,  very  cold,  and  going  back  to  the  little  cabin,  if  I  can 
find  it.  I  don't  know  what  is  to  become  of  me.  I  am  friendless, 
helpless,  and  alone." 

The  wretched  woman,  as  we  learned  afterward,  had  been  seemingly 
unconscious  when  her  husband  was  buried  by  the  bushwhackers  and 
two  or  three  people  of  the  vicinity,  and  these  had  hardly  finished  the 
irksome  task  of  interment  when  a  squad  of  Confederate  cavalry  was 
discovered  taking  possession  of  the  church.  Bushwhackers  and  pity- 
ing people  fled,  leaving  the  widowed  woman  where  we  first  mistook 
her  for  a  disembodied  spirit. 

The  cavalrymen  who  frightened  away  the  grave-diggers  were  the 
very  body  of  men  sought  for  by  Nooe  and  myself.  Uncertain  as  we 
were  of  the  correctness  of  the  course  we  had  pursued  through  the 
night,  guided  by  moon  and  stars,  it  happened  that  we  had  deviated 
very  slightly  from  the  direct  route  from  Mrs.  Shields'  to  the  appointed 
place  of  rendezvous  at  the  little  church. 

The  helpless  woman  was  to  be  cared  for  and  we  must  move  at  once. 
She  had  been  subjected  to  so  many  griefs  and  woes  of  war  that  this 
last  great  sorrow  seemed  only  to  invest  her  with  a  sort  of  dazed 
insensibility  to  suffering,  giving  a  marble-like  hardness  to  her  features. 
She  was  very  handsome  and  graceful.  Her  perfect  self-possession  and 
natural  kindliness  and  intelligence  won  the  regard  and  respect  of  the 
rudest  soldiers.  We  "impressed"  the  wagon  of  a  farmer  for  her  use, 
and  at  sunrise  moved  rapidly  toward  our  nearest  outposts.  The  lady 
was  sent  to  General  Johnston's  headquarters,  while  with  fifty  cavalry- 
men, having  stationed  a  force  at  each  point  of  exit,  I  made  a  descent 
upon  the  bushwhackers'  stronghold.  They  had  been  warned  of  danger 
and  fled.  I  found  pinned  securely  to  a  tree  at  the  entrance  to  their 
cavernous  retreat  a  rudely  written  note  of  which  I  have  a  copy.  It  is 
couched  in  the  following  graceful  terms  : 

"NOTISS. 

"  Ef  we  ever  cum  acrost  you  two  dam  rascals  and  spies  again  you 
dance  on  nuthin'  and  pul  hemp  like  hell.  We  hang  every  Kaintuck 
we  ketch.     But  want  you  sweet  on  old  Kaintuck  !  " 

Kuklux  warnings,  of  a  later  period,  were  modeled  after  this  graceful 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  61 

proclamation  of  the  outraged  bushwhacker.  Analyzing  the  proclama- 
tion I  discovered  that  its  writer  was  not  wholly  revengeful  and 
malicious.  While  I  am  sure,  if  caught  by  him,  I  would  have  been 
hanged,  yet,  for  all  that,  he  appreciated  the  joke  so  deftly  practised  by 
Nooe,  by  means  of  his  beautiful  and  heartfelt  disquisitions  in  the 
bushwhackers'  den,  and  at  the  bushwhackers'  feasts,  pronounced  upon 
the  delights  of  his  "Old  Kentucky  Home." 

The  cavalry  were  sent  to  the  outposts,  while  Nooe  and  I,  with  our 
orignal  thirteen  men,  hurried  back  to  Mrs.  Shields'.  We  reached  her 
hospitable  dwelling  before  sunrise.  An  hour  later  my  whole  force, 
except  Nooe  and  myself,  never  disguising  the  fact  that  they  were 
rebels,  were  given  an  excellent  breakfast.  Mrs.  Shields  was  a  discreet 
woman  and  knew  that  twelve  hungry  soldiers  are  dangerous ;  but  when 
they  produced  silver  with  which  to  pay  for  her  kindness,  she  was  coldly 
hospitable.  The  men  having  breakfasted,  Nooe  and  I  entered  the 
gateway.  Mrs.  Shields  stood  in  the  door  and  stared  at  us,  and  then 
shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand  from  the  bright  sunlight,  and  gazing 
intently  in  our  faces,  was  assured  of  our  identity.  I  never  beheld 
such  an  exhibition  of  insane  rage  and  malevolence.  She  had  been 
restraining  herself  with  the  utmost  difficulty  while  my  men  were  at 
the  table.  She  was  forced  to  listen  silently  to  their  boastful  stories, 
to  recitals  of  their  vaunted  deeds,  and  to  harsh  criticisms  upon  the 
vices  of  bushwhackers.  She  was  full  of  pent-up  wrath,  even  before 
Nooe  and  I  appeared.  She  was  excited,  too,  because  of  denunciations 
heaped,  on  this  occasion  especially,  on  those  who  murdered  the  East 
Tennessee  soldier  in  the  hut  at  the  little  church.  The  young  widow, 
the  men  said,  though  she  moved  about  and  talked  and  smiled,  pro- 
duced the  impression  that  she  was  still  asleep,  having  never  become 
conscious  of  her  latest  and  greatest  grief.  She  was  in  that  condition, 
her  escort  said,  when  they  left  her  at  army  head-quarters. 

The  pent-up  fury  of  Mrs.  Shields  broke  down  all  restraints  when  I 
looked  smilingly  into  her  face,  and  asked  her  to  give  us  breakfast. 
Her  eyes  and  mouth,  while  she  stared  at  me,  were  wide  open.  Then 
she  exclaimed,  in  husky  tones,  her  voice  quivering  with  rage  : 

"I  would  see  you  both  eternally  d d,  first." 

She  turned  to  the  table,  and  while  she  vilified  us  and  the  "one-horse 
Jeff  Davis  Confederacy,"  she  hurled  plates  and  viands  out  of  the  back 
door. 

"I  can  feed  honest,  brave,  rebel  soldiers.  That  is  bad  enough  for 
a  woman  who  was  born  under  the  old  flag  and  means  to  live  and  die 
under  it,  but  would  die  a  thousand  deaths  rather  that  let  a  pair  of 
sneaking,  lying,  rebel  spies  sit  at  my  table.  Oh !  how  you  two  did 
love  Kentucky !  I  thought  from  the  first  you  were  a  pair  of  Texas 
cattle  thieves.  I  watched  you  and  when  you  bribed  that  stupid  boy, 
Bill  Callaway,  to  come  back,  I  knew  you  were  not  going  into  Chatta- 
nooga. I  sent  the  first  honest  man  that  came  by  down  to  the  picket 
lines,  to  inquire  whether  you  had  gone  in.  I  had  you  tracked  towards 
Mount    Pisgah    Church.     I  sent    word    to    the    bushwhackers'  cave 


62  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

that  you  were  coming  with  one  hundred  men  to  capture  and  hang 
them.  They  were  saved  by  me,  and  you  pitiful  fools  were  out- 
manoeuvred by  a  woman.  You  might  eat  in  my  house  if  you  hadn't 
been  such  a  pair  of  stupendous  asses.  Outgeneraled  by  one  little 
woman  !  ' '     And  peals  of  mocking  laughter  rang  through  the  house. 

The  men  listened  in  amazed  silence.  She  talked  most  volubly  and 
her  keen  intelligence  was  wrought  up  to  vigorous  action.  Nobody 
could  long  submit  in  silence  to  such  a  castigation  as  she  administered. 
Her  eyes  blazed  with  unaccountable  fury,  while  she  gesticulated 
violently  and  reasoned  with  the  precision  and  fierceness  of  a  most 
skillful  prosecutor.  Every  imprecation  fitted  its  place  and  there  was 
cunning  logic  in  her  frightfully  fierce  objurgations. 

Seeing  no  end  to  the  woman's  vocabulary  of  epithets  or  themes 
of  denunciation,  I  said  to  her  that  we  had  heard  enough,  and  that 
we  came,  after  paying  for  breakfast,  to  take  charge  of  supplies 
deposited  there  by  the  northern  army  for  the  use  of  deserters  and 
bushwhackers. 

Mrs.  Shields  was  silent.  She  stared  at  me  as  if  bewildered.  She 
turned  suddenly  to  the  fire-place  and  seizing  a  half-consumed  fagot 
threw  it  violently  at  my  head.  Living  coals  were  scattered  every- 
where. She  rushed  out  of  the  house,  and  when  I  went  to  the  backdoor, 
she  had  already  thrust  a  fire-brand  into  a  little  shed  attached  to  the 
main  building  and  filled  with  hay.  Almost  instantly  the  heroic  little 
woman,  with  a  bundle  of  valuables  in  a  large  satchel  and  her  bonnet 
on  her  head,  was  standing  in  the  road  contemplating,  with  a  degree  of 
satisfaction  too  profound  for  utterance,  the  destruction  of  her  com- 
fortable home. 

We  saved  a  few  canvassed  hams,  several  boxes  of  cheese,  and  a 
little  canned  food,  but  the  brave,  earnest,  patriotic  blacksmith's  wife 
had  again  won  a  confessed  victory  by  such  a  sacrifice  as  few  men 
would  have  dreamed  of  making.  She  was  then,  and  may  be  now,  for 
aught  I  know,  my  mortal  enemy,  but  she  deserves  a  monument 
prouder  and  loftier  than  many  that  have  been  reared  to  perpetuate  the 
memory  of  deeds  infinitely  less  honorable  and  requiring  infinitely  less 
devotion  and  heroism  than  she  illustrated  when  applying  the  torch  to 
her  own  loved  home. 

While  equestrian  statues  and  bronze  and  marble  everywhere,  in 
Washington  and  other  cities,  tell  of  the  grand  achievements  of  men, 
why  may  not  some  artist's  pencil  or  sculptor's  chisel  tell  posterity  of 
the  deeds  of  this  devoted  woman,  who  sacrificed  her  wealth  and  all 
that  she  cherished,  contemplating  the  conflagration  with  heartfelt  joy, 
because  she  witnessed  at  the  same  moment  the  discomfiture  of  her 
country's  enemies. 

No  single  grand  public  attestation  of  woman's  worth  and  patriotism, 
as  illustrated  in  the  war  between  the  States,  has  been  carved  on  mon- 
umental stone  or  set  up  in  bronze  or  limned  by  artist's  pencil.  But 
war  crowned  its  infernal  vices  and  crimes  by  hanging  an  innocent 
woman,  a  deed   so   foul  that   it  overshadowed  the  horrible  crime  it 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  63 

sought  to  avenge.  Through  all  ages,  Mrs.  Surratt's  slender  neck  and 
clenched,  motherly  hands  will  hang  out  in  the  hot  sunlight,  swinging 
slowly  round  in  their  bundle  of  black  rags.  Her  upturned,  pitiful 
face  will  never  be  banished  from  the  conscience  of  the  people. 
Partial  amends  to  woman  should  be  made  by  rearing  a  monument  to 
fearless  and  devoted  Mary  Shields. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Conservatism. — Bell    and    Douglas. — Andrew     Johnson. — "Rebels"    and    "Bush- 
whackers."— Mamie  Hughes  and  the  Bushwhacker. 

Knowing  that  smoke  and  flames  of  the  conflagration  would  attract 
the  attention  of  Federal  pickets  and  scouts  within  a  few  miles  of  us, 
we  made  a  hasty  departure,  going  directly  towards  La  Fayette.  When, 
next  morning  at  ten  o'clock,  we  approached  the  town,  a  countryman, 
coming  out,  informed  us  that  the  place  was  occupied  by  a  small  body 
of  Federal  cavalry. 

A  reconnaissance  informed  us  that  a  courteous,  kindly  Federal  soldier, 
Colonel  Burke,  of  the  Tenth  Ohio  Cavalry,  was  in  charge  of  half  a 
dozen  Confederate  ladies  sent  out  of  Nashville  by  Andrew  Johnson, 
then,  I  believe,  Military  Governor  of  Tennessee.  A  like  body  of 
Confederates  from  our  army  head-quarters  met  Colonel  Burke  in 
La  Fayette,  they  spent  the  night  together,  danced  with  the  ladies  from 
Nashville,  and  with  all  the  pretty  girls  about  La  Fayette,  stole  the 
hearts  of  the  choicest  of  them,  and  went  away  to  return,  not  long 
afterward,  to  desolate  the  land  with  fire  and  sword.  Soldierly  hostility 
was  purely  political.  It  was  never  personal  or  social.  The  bush- 
whacker, on  the  contrary,  was  the  personal,  unrelenting  foeman  of 
every  one  who  upheld  the  Confederacy.  The  reason  was  that  a 
secessionist's  fierceness  and  anxiety  to  consolidate  southern  opin- 
ions rendered  him  most  intolerant.  Before  secession  was  accom- 
plished, contumely,  abuse,  and  social  exclusiveness  were  employed, 
and,  in  the  Gulf  States,  a  Union  man,  in  1861 — the  people  had  been 
so  instructed  by  fierce  party  leaders — was  socially  ostracized  and 
despised.  Unhappily  for  the  conservatives  of  the  South,  their  great 
leaders,  Bell  and  Douglas,  the  former  superannuated  and  incapable  of 
exertion  or  usefulness  when  nominated  for  the  Presidency,  and  the 
latter,  a  citizen  of  a  northern  state,  exercised  no  potency  in  the 
South,  while    Yancey,  Toombs,  Tom  and   Howell  Cobb,  and  every 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  65 

Federal  office  holder  in  the  South,  as  instructed  by  Davis  and  Quitman, 
Lamar  and  A.  G.  Brown,  toiled  side  by  side  with  Andrew  Johnson 
and  Isham  G.  Harris  to  consolidate  the  South.  Andrew  Johnson  was 
hanged  in  effigy,  in  Memphis,  by  Whigs  and  Douglas  men,  in  the  fall 
of  1S60.  Afterward,  when  each  southern  Federal  senator  vacated  his 
seat,  and  Johnson,  hating  Jefferson  Davis,  saw  how  infinitely  con- 
spicuous he  himself  became  as  the  solitary  southern  senator,  withdrew 
from  association  with  his  partisan  friends,  the  adherents  of  Brecken- 
ridge,  Davis,  and  Yancey,  and  pronounced  for  the  Union.  There- 
fore, the  unmitigated  abhorrence  with  which  Johnson's  personal  and 
political  character  and  conduct  were  contemplated  by  secessionists,  and, 
therefore,  the  bitterness  of  this  hostility  between  rebels  and  bush- 
whackers— the  native  southern  fighting  Union  men. 

Our  most  dangerous  and  fearless  foemen,  as  scouts,  were  these 
bushwhackers,  and  yet  among  these  we  found  loyal  personal  friends, 
and  thoroughly  honest,  trustworthy  gentlemen.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  we  encountered  and  captured  and  held  as  a  prisoner,  some  days, 
a  bushwhacker  and  ex-schoolmaster  named  Wade.  After  studying 
his  character,  I  released  him  because  of  his  accurately  truthful  state- 
ments, and  in  consideration  of  his  promise  to  accompany  Mamie 
Hughes,  if  she  sought  to  come  south,  to  her  father's  summer  country 
seat,  not  far  below  Dalton  and  Tunnel  Hill.  While  we  were 
encamped  in  the  woods  near  La  Fayette,  Wade  came  boldly  to  my 
sentry  post,  near  the  main  road  to  Chattanooga,  and  asked  to  be 
conducted  into  my  presence.  I  was  pleased  to  meet  him.  I  really 
liked  the  intelligent,  honest,  fearless  Unionist,  and  then  I  was  keenly 
anxious  to  hear  from  Mamie  Hughes.  We  walked  down  to  a  little 
spring  below  the  hill  and  there  I  asked  impatiently : 

"  Have  you  seen  Mamie?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Wade,  "I  went  to  her  uncle's,  near  Charleston, 
on  the  Hiwassee.  I  pretended  to  be  a  sick  East  Tennessee  Union 
soldier.  She  is  the  epitome  of  all  rebeldom,  and  while  her  cousins 
came  to  hear  me  tell  of  my  adventures,  Mamie  stood  aloof.  But  I 
remarked  at  breakfast,  while  Mamie's  face  was  half  averted — she  was 
my  vis-a-vis — that  I  had  been  below  Chattanooga  and  captured  and 
held  several  days  a  prisoner  by  rebel  scouts;  and,  my  God,  Captain," 
exclaimed  Wade,  "you  should  have  seen  the  color  come  and  go  in 
Mamie's  sweet  face.  She  said  not  a  word,  and  soon  recovering 
herself,  drank  a  little  tea,  and  turning  to  see  that  I  followed  her  with 
my  eyes,  she  went  out. 

"I  soon  discovered  an  opportunity  to  confer  with  her  alone.  She 
was  now  as  eager  to  hear  as  she  had  been  persistent,  for  two  days,  in 
avoiding  me.  I  was  shunned,  I  now  know,  simply  because  I  am  your 
public  enemy ;  she  sought  me  because  I  am  your  personal  friend." 

"  I  think,"  I  said,  '-'you  can  always  trust  me  as  your  friend." 

"I  repeated  to  Mamie  what  you  said,  telling  her  that  whenever  she 
wished  to  return  to  her  home  in  Georgia,  I  would  see  her  safely  restored 
to  her  father's  care. 


66  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 


SI    It 


'Oh !  '  she  said,  'my  poor  father  was  already  no  more,  and  I  did 
not  know  it,  when  I  met  the  Captain  beneath  the  stars  and  by  moon- 
light, and  danced  with  him  so  joyously  on  the  hill-side  beyond  the 
Tennessee.  My  brother  is  in  the  Union  army,  a  lieutenant  in 
Colonel  Cliff's  regiment,  and  my  poor  mother  is  alone  at  the  farm 
below  Chattanooga.     I  must  go  to  her  and  then  I  will  be  nearer' — 

"She  stopped;  looked  furtively  in  my  face.  I  was  watching  and 
listening.  She-was  instantly  silent  and  her  cheeks  were  redder  than 
before.  We  were  seated  in  a  vine-clad  summer  house.  Mamie  turned 
away  to  hide  her  blushes  among  the  rose  leaves.  When  spring-time 
comes  no  bud  will  blossom  there  more  bright  or  beautiful  or  sinless 
than  the  faultless  girl  you  love.  I  am  going,  if  you  will  trust  me, 
because  I  now  love  Mamie  as  my  own  child,  to  see  Mamie's  mother, 
and  with  her  assent,  the  poor  child's  wishes  shall  be  executed.  Her 
wretchedness,  when  she  spoke  of  her  mother's  solitude,  was  measure- 
less. Her  cousins  said  she  'was  always  crying  and  always  deploring 
the  impossibility  of  reaching  her  own  home.' 

"But  Mamie's  mother  doesn't  know  me.  1  must  see  her,  with  this 
letter  from  Mamie." 

I  could  not  help  taking  it,  and  would  have  kissed  it,  if  Mr.  Wade 
had  not  been  looking  at  me. 

"Certainly,"  I  said,  "  I  will  see  that  you  pass  safely  below  our  lines. 
General  Cleburne,  when  I  tell  him  what  I  want,  will  get  a  paper  from 
head-quarters  that  will  enable  you  to  serve  Mamie." 

I  sent  a  courier  that  night  with  dispatches  to  General  Cleburne's 
head-quarters,  telling  him,  among  other  things,  that  I  wanted  "a  pass 
through  the  lines  for  Mr.  Wade  and  for  a  rebel  Georgia  girl  whom  I 
loved." 

Wade,  the  noted  bushwhacker,  slept  that  night  beside  my  camp 
fire  and  beneath  my  blankets.  He  ate  and  drank  with  us  and  I  am 
sure  there  was  never  a  more  reckless,  thoughtless,  joyous  body  of  men, 
in  either  army  than  they  who  followed  my  fortunes  and  sought  by 
every  means  to  please  the  excellent  bushwhacker.  He  was  much 
older  than  any  of  us,  had  been  a  godly  country  pedagogue,  but  had 
acquired  many  soldierly  tastes  and  habits.  He  could  drink  mountain- 
eers' whiskey,  told  capital  stories,  and  was  an  adept  in  Schenck's 
game  of  poker. 

On  the  third  day  after  his  dej^arture  the  courier  returned  with 
needful  instructions  and  orders,  and  with  the  passport  for  Mr.  Wade 
and  Mamie  Hughes. 

I  was  perfectly  blest. 


CHAPTER  X. 


A  Fat  and  Enthusiastic  Widow. — General  Sherman  makes  an  Heroic  Speech  and 
buys  a  Turkey. — The  Pedagogue  moralizes. — Terrible  Condition  of  East  Ten- 
nessee.— Effects  of  the  War  on  the  South. — Demagogues. — Landon  C.  Haines' 
Father. 

When  the  passports  were  delivered  by  the  courier,  I  called  the 
bushwhacker  and  pedagogue  and  silently  gave  him  the  papers.  I  was 
dreaming  of  the  day  when  I  would  meet  Mamie  Hughes,  and  was 
never  conscious  of  keener  delight  than  that  given  by  my  interview, 
as  narrated  in  preceding  pages,  with  the  scholarly,  modest,  earnest 
bushwhacker.  He  read  my  heart  and  was  silent,  that  I  might  dream 
uninterruptedly.  Blissful  visions  were  conjured  up  by  the  pedagogue's 
simple  recitals.  His  pictures  were  exact  copies  of  those  my  fancy  had 
already  etched  a  thousand  times  upon  the  clear  blue  sky  when 
proximity  of  danger  repelled  sleep,  and  when  I  watched  the  stars,  or 
discovered  in  white  clouds,  gorgeously  gilded  by  moonbeams  in 
this  transparent  atmosphere,  the  fancied  outlines  of  Mamie's  sweet 
face  and  matchless  form. 

I  was  still  dreaming  when  the  bushwhacker  said  : 

"  I  saw  General  Sherman  last  Monday.  He  was  visiting  his  out- 
posts and  inspecting  his  forces  at  Sweetwater  and  other  points.  I  was 
at  a  fat  and  loyal  widow's  house  on  the  roadside  when  he  and  his  staff 
were  passing.     A  soldier  galloped  by  exclaiming  : 

"  'General  Sherman  is  coming  ! ' 

"I  went  to  the  door,  but  the  widow  almost  ran  over  me.  She 
rushed  out  into  the  midst  of  the  highway,  and  there  she  stood  bare- 
headed, her  red,  fat  face  shining,  as  if  oiled,  in  the  brilliant  sunlight, 
her  bosom  filled  by  'two  churns,'  as  she  mildly  described  them  when 
fattening  her  twins,  her  body  thrown  back  and  arms  akimbo.  She 
stood  with  a  protuberant  avoirdupois  of  two  hundred  pounds  squarely 


6S  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

and  firmly  in  the  midst  of  the  highway.     The  foremost  of  the  horse- 
men asked  her  : 

"'What  can  we  do  for  you,  madam?  Why  do  you  block  up 
the  road  ? ' 

"cl  want  to  see  Gineral  Sherman,'  was  her  firm  answer. 

"Another  officer  came  up  asking,  'What  do  you  want  madam?' 

"  'I'm  bound  to  see  the  Gineral,'  was  the  sturdy  response. 

"'I  am  his  chief  of  staff,  madam.  Can't  I  serve  you,  and  will  you 
not  be  good  enough  to  leave  the  road  that  we  may  pass?' 

"'I'm  bound  to  see  Gineral  Sherman,'  persisted  the  good  dame. 
The  front  of  her  dress  was  apparently  quite  a  foot  shorter  than  the  rear 
that  hardly  touched  the  ground  as  she  stood  bending  backwards  with 
naked  arms  akimbo,  looking  up  and  eagerly  scanning  the  face  of  each 
horseman.  Her  circumference,  described  by  a  cotton  string  around 
her  body — she  had  no  waist — must  have  been  five  feet.  Of  course  the 
highway  was  effectively  closed. 

"The  General  rode  up  asking,  when  the  obstruction  to  his  progress 
had  been  described  by  an  aide-de-camp : 

"  'What  can  I  do  for  you,  madam?' 

"  'Is  you  the  Gineral?' 

"  'I  am.     How  can  I  serve  you?'  he  replied. 

"  She  walked  up,  and  standing  beside  the  General's  horse,  held  the 
bridle  reins  and  began  : 

"  'You  see,  Gineral,  my  old  man  and  the  three  boys  is  in  your  army 
afightin'  agin  Jeff  Davis  and  for  the  old  flag.  I'm  here  a  lone  widder 
with  the  two  gals  and  the  two  twins,  makin'  a  honest  livin',  I  am  ;  and 
lo  !  and  behold,  Gineral,  a  lot  of  your  soldiers  keeps  acomin'  to  see  my 
darters,  Susan  Ann  and  Maryer  Jane,  and  acourtin'  around  here  of 
nights,  and  every  time  enny  of  'em  comes  they  tote  away  a  turkey 
or  two  tell  I  haint  but  one  fat  gobbler  left.  I've  lost  nigh  onto 
fifty  turkeys,  Gineral,  and  I'm  ruinated  and  I  don't  know  what's 
to  become  of  me  and  the  gals  and  the  two  twins  at  these  innercent 
breasts.' 

"Here  the  good  dame  lifted  up  the  lower  end  of  her  striped, 
homespun  apron  and  wiped  first  one  and  then  the  other  greasy,  red  eye. 

"The  General  was  evidently  deeply  affected.  •  Natural  nervous  impa- 
tience had  been  heightened  by  the  endless  multiplicity  of  just  such 
complaints  as  this  preferred  by  the  fat  dame  before  him.  He  was  dis- 
gusted, even  furious. 

"He  straightened  himself  up,  raised  his  plumed  hat,  stood  in  his 
stirrups,  and  said: 

"  'Look  at  me,  madam!  Listen  while  I  speak!  In  your  presence 
and  in  that  of  these  valiant  men  and  of  the  bended  heavens,  madam, 
I  here  swear  and  pledge  myself  to  crush  out  the  Great  Rebellion  if  it 
costs  every  damned  turkey  gobbler  south  of  the  Ohio !  !  ' 

"The  General's  manner  was  eminently  and  grandly  theatrical, 
solemn,  and  imposing. 

"The  woman,  with  earnest,  inquiring  gaze,  stared  wonderingly  for 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  69 

a  moment  at  the  General,  and  comprehending  at  last  the  trifling  char- 
acter of  her  sacrifices,  said,  as  she  slowly  released  the  bridle  rein  : 

"  'Gineral,  I  have  a  fat  gobbler  left.  It  is  your'n.  Wait  tell  I  go 
and  fetch  him.' 

"'With  all  my  heart  I  thank  you,'  was  the  General's  response,  and 
as  he  rode  away,  I  heard  the  long,  loud  laughter  of  the  rollicking  staff. 
One  of  them  thoughtfully  remained  to  get  the  turkey,  for  which  the 
courtesying  dame,  with  eyes  full  of  oily  gratitude,  accepted  a  five- 
dollar  greenback  sent  by  the  General. 

"East  Tennessee,"  continued  the  pedagogue,  "is  in  a  terrible 
condition.  The  people  are  preyed  upon  by  both  armies  and  by 
banded  thieves  and  highwaymen  that  belong  to  neither.  The  morals 
of  the  people  are  affected  by  these  facts.  The  seat  of  Avar  is  the  scene 
of  vice  as  well  as  suffering.  I  think  many  years  must  elapse,  and  a 
new  generation  of  men  and  women  come  upon  the  stage,  before  the 
South  can  be  restored  to  its  original  condition.  The  worst  products 
of  the  war  will  remain  here  ;  the  best  return  to  their  homes  beyond  the 
Ohio.  Poverty  and  vice  and  illiteracy  will  be  dominant  for  many 
years,  and  I  dread  peace  as  much  as  I  abhor  war.  There  is  no  future 
in  the  South  for  men  of  my  age,  habits,  tastes,  and  training.  Dema- 
gogues, of  the  revolutionary,  violent  sort,  will  win  ignorant  popular 
favor ;  and  prejudices  and  hates  of  this  lawless  period  will  shape 
results  of  popular  elections.  Discord,  violence,  and  vendettas  will 
brood  fateful ly  over  this  hapless  land. 

"I  was  infinitely  amused,  not  long  ago,  by  a  little  incident  illus- 
trative of  what  I  have  been  saying.  You  know  my  school  was  broken 
up,  my  home  and  books  were  burned,  and  I  was  thrust  into  prison  at 
Knoxville.  For  what,  I  never  knew.  I  was  furious,  and  swore 
vengeance,  and  was  wreaking  it  right  and  left  when  I  fell  under  the 
influence  of  your  generosity  and  of  the  tender,  filial  confidence  and 
affection  and  marvelous  beauty  of  Mamie  Hughes. 

"  The  story  I  would  tell  is  simply  this.  It  illustrates  my  lugubrious 
philosophy,  showing  the  tendency  to  evil  of  every  incident  of  hateful, 
vicious,  red-handed  war.  One  of  the  richest  citizens  of  Carter  County, 
in  Tennessee,  is  David  Haines.  His  son,  Landon  C,  is  a  brilliant, 
facile  talker,  a  lawyer  of  ability  and  pronounced  success,  and  a  violent, 
original,  "blood-drinking  secessionist,"  so  called  in  allusion  to  the 
fact  that  political  prophets  used  to  tell  the  "submissionists,"  or  Union 
men,  as  you  remember,  that  they,  the  prophets,  would  drink  all  the 
blood  to  be  shed  in  any  war  that  would  follow  secession.  Landon  C, 
the  son,  is  now  a  member  of  the  Confederate  Senate,  at  Richmond. 
Then,  too,  the  fortunate  Mr.  Haines,  pere,  has  a  son-in-law  in  the 
person  of  Hon.  Nat  G.  Taylor,  the  old  Whig  congressman  and  elo- 
quent Unionist. 

"  Thus,  you  will  observe,  the  elder  Haines  is  braced  up  by  a  pair  of 
capable  defenders  in  the  son  and  son-in-law.  Therefore,  when  Fed- 
eral soldiers  came  plundering  and  seizing  wagons,  horses,  and  supplies 
of  every  description,  as  is  their  wont  in  Carter  County,  Haines,  senior, 


70  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

announces  the  fact  that  his  son-in-law,  the  congressman  and  preacher 
and  orator,  Taylor,  has  promised  him  ample  protection  and  that  his 
property  shall  not  be  molested.  Taylor's  name  is  potent  among 
Union  men. 

"When  Confederate  guerrillas  come  dashing  over  the  hills  and 
hollows  of  Carter,  robbing  barn-yards  and  stables  and  smoke-houses, 
then  the  paternal  Haines,  with  earnest,  illiterate  eloquence,  his  white 
locks  streaming  in  the  wind,  tells  that  he  is  the  father  of  the  great 
Confederate  senator,  Landon  C.  Haines,  and  that  Landon  made  Jeff 
Davis  promise  him  immunity  from  these  exactions  levied  by  Confed- 
erate soldiers.  The  result  has  been  that  patei--familias  Haines,  until 
recently,  has  been  effectually  guarded  by  the  son-in-law  against 
Federal,  and  by  the  son  against  Confederate  bandits.  About  two 
weeks  ago  a  squad  of  bushwhackers  made  a  descent  upon  the  old 
gentleman's  pretty  farm,  and  were  about  to  desolate  it.  He  came  out 
and  scanned  their  trappings  closely.  They  gave  no  sign,  but  were 
badly  appareled  and  armed,  each  man  to  suit  his  fancy.  Mr.  Haines 
concluded  they  were  "rebels."  He  began  his  usual  pretty  little 
eulogium  upon  'my  eloquent,  high-larnt  son,  Landon  C,  is  a  member 
of  the  Confederate  States  Senate,  in  Richmond,  and  he  made  Jeff 
Davis  promise,'  etc.     The  wicked  bushwhackers  would  hear  no  more. 

"  'Come,   boys,  help  yourselves,'   exclaimed  their  leader;   'this  is 

the  d d  old  daddy  of  that   howling  fire-plug  of  hell,  Landon  C. 

Haines.     Clean  out  the  d d  old  rascal.' 

"Nothing  visible  was  left.  Mr.  Haines  loves  money  for  its  own 
sake.     He  was  almost  paralyzed  by  the  blow.     I  did  pit)-  his  sorrows. 

"A  few  days  later  another  squad  of  thieving  soldiers  came  by. 
They  bore  no  flag  or  other  distinguishing  marks  of  'nationality.' 
They  rode  through  the  gate  and  up  to  the  door.  Mr.  Haines  sat 
there,  eyeing  them  intently.  He  could  not  tell  whether  his  unwel- 
come visitors  were  northern  or  southern. 

"'Tell  me,'  said  the  leader  of  the  squad,  after  some  trifling 
conversation,  'are  you  Union  or  rebel?' 

"Mr.  Haines,  staring  vacantly  at  his  questioner,  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  and  then  said  very  slowly : 

"  'I'm  jess  nuthin,  and  sense  I  come  to  think  about  it,  I'm  d d 

little  of  that.' 

"The  soldier  was  so  amused — Mr.  Haines  is  an  illiterate  old  gentle- 
man— that  he  laughingly  ordered  his  men  to  'feed  their  horses  and  let 
the  old  man  alone.'  " 


CHAPTER  XI. 


Within  the  Federal  Lines. — Friendly  Negroes. — Pursued  by  Federal  Cavalry. — An 
Unequal  Race  for  Life. — Fighting,  Freezing,  and  Feasting. — Cold  Water  Bap- 
tism.— Exhaustion. — An  Imposing  Spectacle. — A  Friendly  Proposition. — In 
Search  of  Comfort. — Baked  "'Possum  and  Taters." — Welcome  Repose. — Poor 
Whites. — Elisha  Short's  Opinions. — The  Sun  Rises. — Arduous  Tasks. — General 
Joseph  E.  Johnston  and  the  Scouts. — A  Scout's  Mode  of  Life. — The  General 
listens  to  a  Love  Story. 

Next  morning  after  the  grand  "international"  ball  in  La  Fayette 
the  Federal  cavalry  set  out  to  return  to  Chattanooga. 

At  the  same  time,  my  diminutive  force,  accompanied  some  distance 
by  the  East  Tennessee  shoolmaster  who  had  agreed  to  do  no  further 
military  service,  moved  toward  Ringgold  Gap. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  were  moving  leisurely  through  the  woods 
two  miles  west  from  the  town,  Ringgold,  when  suddenly  startled  by 
the  appearance,  not  far  away,  of  a  force  of  Federal  mounted  men. 
Ambulances  followed  them  and  we  were  amazed  to  discover,  after  a 
hasty  reconnaissance,  that  this  very  calvacade  left  La  Fayette  when 
we  did.  In  truth,  it  was  the  women's  escort  that  pretended  to  leave 
for  Chattanooga.  It  then  occurred  to  us  that  the  purpose  of  the . 
Colonel  leading  the  force  was  to  take  advantage  of  the  flag  of  truce 
to  gather  information.  Secreting  ourselves  by  the  roadside  till  the 
ambulances  went  by,  we  moved  rapidly  to  the  high  hills  just  west  of 
the  town  of  Ringgold.  Satisfied  that  wrongful  advantage  was  sought 
to  be  taken  of  the  flag  of  truce,  we  proposed,  soon  after  night-fall,  to 
"stampede"  the  horses  of  the  cavalry  and  ambulances  and  at  least 
compel  the  cunning  Ohio  colonel  to  return  to  Chattanooga  on  foot. 
We  watched  the  movements  of  the  escort  closely,  and  disposition  of 
their  horses. 

The  sun  was  going  down  and  had  just  become  invisible.     Sitting 


72  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

on  a  fallen  tree,  smoking  a  cob-pipe,  some  little  distance  from  my 
men,  I  was  startled  by  the  approach  of  two  Union  soldiers — infantry 
men — walking  leisurely  toward  the  spot  where  my  men  were  lounging 
on  their  blankets.  I  advanced  on  the  unexpected  intruders  and 
ordered  them  to  halt.  Thev  failed  to  obey,  but  turned  back.  I 
called  to  Spratling  or  Lewis  for  a  gun.  The  latter  ran  to  me  saying, 
in  a  whisper,  "For  God's  sake,  Captain,  don't  shoot.  There  is  a 
brigade  of  Federal  infantry  just  over  the  hill,  there  !  " 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  The  two  Union  soldiers  had  not 
reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  going  to  their  brigade,  just  below  on  the 
other  side,  when  we  were  in  full  flight  in  the  opposite  direction. 
There  were  half  a  dozen  Federal  pickets,  now  discovered  for  the  first 
time,  between  us  and  the  bridge  across  the  creek  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill  west  of  Ringgold. 

It  was  now  growing  dark,  and  as  my  men  wore  Federal  overcoats 
we  slackened  our  speed  thinking  that  we  would  be  deemed  stragglers 
and  suffered  to  pass  without  molestation.  If  not,  there  were  thirteen 
bullets  for  not  more  than  five  or  six  lazy-looking  German  sentinels. 
I  passed  within  five  paces  of  one  of  these.  He  simply  grunted,  when 
he  looked  at  me,  and  I  heard  him  mutter : 

; '  Tarn  straeghlers  ! ' ' 

We  were  now  within  the  Federal  lines  and  almost  in  the  midst  of 
the  enemy's  encampment.  I  was  never  environed  by  such  dangers, 
and  never,  when  potent  causes  for  gravest  apprehensions  were  dis- 
covered, have  I  confessed,  as  on  this  clear,  bright  wintry  night,  a 
keener  sense  of  genuine  anxiety  and  even  of  alarm.  Camp  fires 
began  to  blaze  everywhere.  A  division  or  corps  of  the  Union  army 
had  evidently  just  reached  the  place  and  was  bivouacking  for  the 
night. 

Soldiers  who  were  at  Ringgold  will  remember  the  long-framed 
house,  with  its  portico  and  rose  vines,  at  the  west  end  of  the  bridge 
across  the  deep  creek.  In  the  rear  of  this  house  was  the  kitchen  and 
back  of  that  was  the  smoke-house;  behind  this  was  the  orchard,  and 
then  the  open  farm  occupied  the  valley,  extending  nearly  a  mile  to 
the  base  of  the  lofty  wooded  hills.  The  deep  creek  winds  about 
through  the  farm  in  every  conceivable  direction.  The  owner  of  the 
place,  a  rebel,  had  left  it  in  charge  of  an  old  colored  servant  and  his 
wife.  I  had  often  stopped  at  the  place  and  the  good  colored  dame 
and  her  husband  knew  me  well.  She  addressed  me  as  "sonny,"  and 
I  was  accustomed  to  praise  "Mammy's"  ash-cakes — corn-cakes  roasted 
in  hot  ashes — and  buttermilk.  I  was  hurrying  to  "Uncle  Mose"  and 
"Mammy"  for  information  and  that  I  might  have  their  advice  and 
assistance.  Fortunate  were  we  in  first  seeking  the  negroes'  aid.  "The 
'big  house'  " — a  designation  commonly  applied  by  negroes  to  the 
master's  residence — "is  chuck  full  of  Yankees,"  said  old  Mose,  after 
staring  wildly  at  me  for  a  moment. 

"In  the  name  of  gorramity  what  you  doin'  yere,  Marse  Jim?" 
whispered  ' '  Mammy. ' ' 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  73 

Her  eyes  protruded  from  her  head  till  I  could  have  knocked  them 
out  with  a  board  brought  down  edgewise  perpendicularly.  By  the 
bright  fire-light  I  could  discover  that  her  sooty  face  had  assumed  an 
ashen  hue.     She  spoke  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  Marse  Jim,"  said  the  old  man,  "dar  war  some  Yanks  here  yis- 
tiddy,  de  fust  dat  cum.  Dey  knode  you  and  I  said  dey  had  you  onct 
and  dat  you  fooled  'em  and  got  clean  away  wid  'em.  Dey  said  dey 
was  gwine  to  hang  you  and  Marse  Nooe  dar.  Dat's  what  skeers  dis 
niggah.     You  must  git  cleer  away." 

"Show  me  the  road  to  the  mountains  at  once.  We  can't  talk 
now."  and  old  Mose  led  the  way  to  the  rear  of  the  smoke-house,  and 
pointing  across  the  creek  and  farm,  told  me  to  go. 

Pressing  the  hard  hand  of  the  old  negro  and  telling  him  to  say  to 
"Mammy"  that  I  would  soon  see  her  again,  I  leaped  the  fence,  my 
men  following,  and  we  ran  at  the  top  of  our  speed  toward  the  creek. 
Signal  guns  were  firing  and  drums  beating  an  alarm.  We  could  hear 
the  rattling  of  arms  and  movements  of  horses.  The  moon  was  up,  and 
in  the  cloudless  sky,  diffused  the  light  of  day  about  us.  We  had 
emerged  from  the  little  orchard  and  gone  two  hundred  yards  in  the 
open  field,  each  of  us  exerting  himself  to  the  utmost,  when  we  heard 
cavalrymen  swearing,  and  tearing  down  the  fence  behind  us.  Before 
they  entered  the  field,  we  reached  the  creek,  five  feet  deep,  and  its 
banks  eight  or  ten  feet  high.  We  never  hesitated  orlooked  to  the  right  or 
left.  Leaping  in,  we  were  immersed  to  the  armpits.  The  shock,  heated 
as  we  were  by  terrible  exertion,  almost  paralyzed  us.  The  night  was 
bitterly  cold,  and  words  can  never  describe  the  unutterable  anguish 
we  experienced  when,  slowly  scrambling  up  the  bank  with  limbs 
hardly  obeying  volition,  we  began  again  the  unequal  race  for  life. 

Thirty  or  more  horsemen  were  in  close  pursuit.  When  they  came 
to  the  stream,  the  shadows  of  moonlight  may  have  exaggerated 
its  depth.  They  halted  and  then  rode  up  the  stream  to  find  a  crossing 
place.  Meanwhile  we  were  recovering  our  capacity  for  flight  and 
moved  rapidly.  The  cavalrymen  fired  a  harmless  volley  at  us,  and 
then  shouting  triumphantly  because  a  good  ford  was  discovered,  they 
came  rushing  across  the  level  field.  They  were  within  one  hundred 
yards  when  we  again  plunged  into  the  creek ;  and  within  fifty  yards, 
again  did  we  cross  it,  and  again  our  pursuers  swore  furiously,  and 
fired  wildly  at  us,  and  rode  madly  up  and  down  the  creek  to  discover 
a  crossing  place. 

Our  enemies  were  now  scattered.  Five  or  six — probably  more — 
crossed  the  stream  ahead  of  the  rest,  and  as  we  were  almost  out  of  the 
clearing  and  just  as  we  entered  the  woods,  these  eager  horsemen  rode 
rapidly  to  prevent  our  access  to  a  place  of  security.  Spratling  and  I 
had  taken  the  lead  in  this  furious  flight.  He  was  strongest  and  I 
most  agile  of  the  scouts.  As  the  horsemen  began  the  ascent  of  the 
declivity,  we  stopped  that  our  whole  force  might  encounter  the 
approaching  pursuers.  Nooe  and  the  rest  soon  stood  by  us  in  the 
shadow  of  a  few  trees.     The  reckless  riders  came  within  thirty  paces 


74  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

when  we  fired.  I  don't  think  one  of  those  gallant,  excited  riders 
escaped  unharmed.  But  we  did  not  wait  to  see.  We  were  not  sure 
even  then  that  the  pursuit  would  be  abandoned  and  therefore  hurried 
through  the  forest  up  the  ascent. 

Utterly,  helplessly  exhausted,  we  rested  at  last  on  the  mountain's 
summit.  Weary  beyond  measure,  our  clothing  frozen,  and  fearing, 
if  we  kindled  fires,  that  pursuit  would  be  renewed,  we  were  reduced  to 
the  last  extremity  of  suffering.  We  looked  down  upon  endless  lines  of 
Federal  camp  fires  and  listened  to  musket  firing  about  Murdock's 
Mills,  south  of  Ringgold  Gap,  in  the  direction  of  Tunnel  Hill.  The 
configuration  of  endless  lines  of  armed  men  could  be  defined  by  means 
of  steady  flashes  of  musketry  and  occasional  explosions  of  field 
artillery.  It  was  a  splendid  exhibition,  but  physical  anguish  rendered 
enjoyment  of  the  dazzling,  imposing  spectacle,  impossible. 

In  desperate  straits  men  think  rapidly.  How  absurd,  I  reflected, 
even  then,  had  been  my  threat  addressed  to  the  two  Federal  stragglers 
an  hour  or  two  ago !  how  insane  my  vengeful  little  plan  for  the  pun- 
ishment of  the  flag-of-truce  escort  for  its  detour  made,  as  I  had 
supposed,  to  gather  information  !  The  Ohio  Colonel  knew  more  than 
I  when  he  moved  his  cavalcade  into  the  encampment  of  Palmer's 
Corps,  sent  to  Ringgold  Gap  to  compel  the  return  of  Cleburne's 
division  suddenly  ordered  to  Mississippi  to  arrest  the  march  of  a 
Union  force  across  that  state.  Palmer's  object  was  accomplished. 
As  I  learned  later,  Cleburne  was  even  that  night  turning  backward 
from  Mobile  and  Meridian  towards  Atlanta  and  Dalton. 

Cold,  icy  winds  swept  over  the  mountain  top  in  freezing,  fitful 
gusts.  When  we  moved,  our  ice-incrusted  clothes  crackled,  while  our 
bodies  had  been  superheated  by  this  desperate  flight  and  toilsome 
ascent.  We  were  absolutely  freezing  to  death.  One  of  my  men  said, 
his  lips  trembling  and  teeth  chattering: 

"Boys,  its  a  pity  we  hadn't  surrendered.  The  devil  will  get  us 
anyhow." 

We  were  forced  to  have  a  fire;  but  there  was  not  a  match  that 
could  be  ignited.  We  had  been  too  often  baptised.  Fortu  ately 
our  cartridges  were  waterproof. 

Just  then  Nooe  discovered  the  glare  of  a  fitful  light  down  the 
mountain-side.  Kendrick  and  I  proposed  to  go  in  a  body  and  capture 
those  who  enjoyed  the  warmth  of  the  blazing  fagots  or  die  in  the 
assault. 

Nooe  said  "it  were  wiser  if  only  one  or  two  went  forward.  If 
these  find  everything  right,  they  can  whistle  and  the  rest  will  join 
them.  As  you  two  proposed  that  all  should  venture  to  the  spot,  it  is 
proper  that  you  two  should  go  forward." 

I  pressed  Kendrick' s  foot  with  mine  that  he  might  be  silent,  and 
assented  to  Nooe's  plans.  If  there  were  no  danger,  I  was  to  whistle 
like  a  partridge  and  my  comrades  would  come  to  me  at  once.  If  we 
fell  into  the  clutches  of  bushwhackers,  of  course  we  would  die  and 
make  no  sign. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  75 

"Kendrick,"  I  said,  as  soon  as  we  left  the  scouts,  "if  we  find 
everything  comfortable,  let  us  be  silent  and  punish  the  boys  for 
sending  us  helpless  into  hidden  danger  like  this." 

"Agreed,"  answered  Kendrick,  while  we  trudged  along,  ice-clad, 
our  very  bones  shivering  and  freezing,  down  the  steep  declivity. 

Reckless  because  of  mortal  suffering,  we  looked  eagerly  through 
crevices  in  the  walls  of  a  log  hut  and  beheld  a  rudely  clad  country 
jade  lighting  an  oven  from  a  log-heap  fire  on  the  broad  hearth. 
What  spasms  of  hunger  suddenly  attacked  me!  I  caught  the  fumes  of 
the  baking  opossum.  Kendrick  hastily  knocked  at  the  closed  door. 
I  was  still  watching  the  woman.  She  dropped  the  pot-hooks  upon 
the  oven  lid  and  turning  toward  the  door,  asked,  in  a  sharp,  shrill, 
husky  voice : 

"Who's  dat?" 

"Madam,"  I  answered,  "we  are  two  starving  men.  We  will  give 
you  a  silver  dollar  for  that  'possum  and  potatoes.  Let  us  in.  We 
will  not  harm  you.     We  are  freezing." 

Slowly  and  doubtingly  the  ignorant  creature  removed  the  bar  across 
the  shutter  and  we  entered,  paid  the  woman  the  stipulated  price,  and 
in  less  than  five  minutes  had  devoured  the  opossum.  No  more 
delicious  food  ever  delighted  a  hungry,  weary,  freezing  soldier  than 
this  summum  bomtm  of  African  luxuries — "baked  'possum  and 
roasted  sweet  'taters."  But  negroes  are  not  singular  in  appreciation 
of  this  choicest  southern  luxury,  that  most  abounds  where  persimmon 
trees  flourish.  When  United  States  Senator  Garland  of  Arkansas  was 
asked  by  an  eastern  gormand  how  an  opossum  should  be  cooked,  he 
answered : 

"The  bent  of  my  mind  is  that  if  you  would  boil  the  'possum  in 
salt  and  pepper  water  until  it  is  quite  tender,  and  then  brown  it  well 
in  an  old-fashioned  oven,  or  skillet,  wherein  around  its  body  a  goodly 
number  of  potatoes  are  baked  and  browned,  you  would  have  a  dish 
unrivaled,  and  more  than  Oriental,  and  a  person  who  could  not 
relish  it,  whether  he  took  the  'possum  hot  or  cold,  would  have  no 
celestial  fire  or  music  in  his  soul."  As  to  whether  the  'possum  is  best 
eaten  hot  or  cold,  the  Senator  confessed  his  inability  to  decide. 
"Rather  than  miss  it  entirely,"  he  added,  "I  would  try  to  eat  it  in 
any  way  I  could  find  it,  and  really  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  it  is 
best  hot  or  cold,  according  to  the  state  it  is  in  when  I  last  partake 
of  it." 

A  daintier  dish  was  never  set  before  a  king,  and  no  sybarite  ever 
enjoyed  the  costly  viands  of  Lucullus'  table  as  did  we  this  baked 
opossum  and  potatoes. 

We  had  hardly  dispatched  the  grateful  repast  when  we  heard  the 
footsteps  of  our  comrades.  They  could  endure  mortal  anguish  no 
longer  and  came  to  share  our  unknown  fate.  We  asked  them  to 
enter,  telling  the  woman  that  she  was  safe  and  should  be  well 
rewarded  for  her  kindness.  The  poor  creature,  staring  stupidly  and 
helplessly  in  my  face,  shrank,  with  a  small  yellow  mop  in  her  mouth, 


76  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

into  the  corner,  and  soon  slept.     Kendrick  and  I  were  well  pleased 
to  tell  of  the  feast  that  had  been  spread  for  us. 

"You  sent  us  alone,"  I  said,  "to  prison  or  death.  We  avenged 
the  wrong  by  leaving  you  to  freeze  while  we  feasted." 

We  filled  the  fire-place  with  blazing  logs,  and  Kendrick  and  I  agreed 
to  take  the  first  watch.  The  boys  drew  lots  to  determine  who 
should  succeed  us  at  midnight,  and  very  soon  profound  rest  dissipated 
every  memory  of  the  surprises,  hopes,  excitement,  and  keen  anxiety  of 
the  memorable  day  and  night  at  Ringgold  Gap. 

Our  breakfast  next  morning  was  a  reproduction  of  the  supper  of 
the  preceding  night.  The  good  dame  was  surely  objectionable  as 
a  cook.  She  was  the  ignorant  widow  of  one  of  those  ignorant, 
stupid  fellows  who  are  caressed  and  flattered  by  "great,  good  men," 
so  called,  and  induced  to  become  food  for  powder.  The  lackadaisical, 
yellow  creature,  with  streaks  of  yellowish  snuff  trickling  from  a  filthy 
mop  in  her  mouth,  said  "she  had  heern  he  was  kilt  sumwhars  hvole 
Ferginny. " 

She  sniffled  a  little,  and  taking  more  snuff  on  the  mop,  filled  her 
stained,  yellow  mouth  and  wiping  supposed  tears,  with  the  coiner  of 
her  greasy,  homespun  apron,  proceeded  with  melancholy  slothfulness 
to  fry  thick  flitches  of  bacon  and  thinly  sliced  sweet  potatoes,  and 
bake  corn-bread,  and  boil  coffee. 

Nine-tenths  of  the  people  of  the  Gulf  States  were  preparing  at  this 
selfsame  moment  just  such  breakfasts  of  these  selfsame  simple 
materials.  Our  hostess  was  only  peculiarly  blest  in  having  coffee 
furnished  from  the  haversack  of  one  of  my  comrades.  Further  south, 
rice  constituted  as  in  India,  breakfasts,  dinners,  and  suppers  of  an 
agricultural  people  cut  off  from  commercial  intercourse  with  all 
nations. 

In  the  early  summer  of  1S63,  I  descended  the  Tennessee  River  in  a 
skiff  with  Major  Hornor,  of  Helena,  Arkansas,  from  Chattanooga  to 
.Decatur,  Alabama,  and  thence  crossed  the  country  on  foot  from 
Decatur  to  Birmingham,  known  as  Elyton,  a  wretched  little  village, 
and  thence  I  went  to  Columbus,  Mississippi.  Even  then  there  was 
neither  sugar  nor  coffee,  and  only  bacon  and  corn-bread,  on  the  tables 
of  the  rural  districts.  The  people  of  Northern  and  Central  Alabama 
suffered  most.  They  had  the  least  possible  communication  with  the 
exterior  world.  The  women  were  appareled  in  the  coarsest  cotton 
fabrics,  woven  on  rude  domestic  looms  and  spun  on  hand  wheels,  such 
as  are  only  to  be  found  to-day' in  collections  of  curious  bric-a-brac. 
Salt,  even  at  the  period  designated,  could  not  be  bought  by  the 
indigent  population,  and  when  a  hog  or  beef  was  slaughtered,  the 
people  of  each  vicinage  assembled  and  each  took  away  a  share  that  the 
whole  might  be  used  before  decomposition  began.  These  poverty- 
stricken  districts  were  solidly  democratic.  They  had  been  first 
for  war,  and  only  very  old  men,  women,  children  and  deserters 
occupied    this   broad    district.     Pitiful    to   the   last    degree   was   the 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  77 

condition  of  the  country  with  its  starving,  rudely  clad  mothers  and 
abandoned  wives  and  yellow-legged,  unwashed,  unkempt,  unattended 
children. 

I  spent  the  night  with  an  old  man,  Elisha  Short,  in  a  district  of 
Pickens  County,  Alabama,  known  as  Bunkum.  I  gave  him  ten  dollars 
in  Confederate  currency  to  kill  a  kid.  I  had  a  little  salt  and  we  fared 
sumptuously,  having  milk  and  corn-bread.  Mr.  Short  seemed  to  think 
the  condition  of  the  country  somewhat  changed,  but  had  no  definite 
idea  of  the  cause  of  calamities  that  befell  him  and  his  neighbors.  He 
had  been  told,  as  he  said  to  me,  that  "a  feller  named  Abe  Linkhorn 
had  raised  hell  sumhows  and  was  ruinatin'  things,  but  he  didn't 
know  for  certain."  He  had  "heern  of  a  feller  what  was  a  speakin' 
round  for  Kongris  or  sunthin'  tellen  the  peepil  to  secesh  and  he  heern 
they  had  seceshed  and  it  looks  like  a  hell  of  a  bizness  at  this  particular 
time.  Thar.'s  sunthin'  about  the  nigger  in  it,  but  as  we-uns  haven't 
got  any  niggers,  we  don't  know  much  about  it.  Everyboddy  is 
Demmycrats  in  these  yere  parts,  end  of  course  we  could  get  salt  and 
things  ef  it  wasn't  for  them  Whigs  and  Abbylisherners." 

These,  substantially,  were  the  words  and  sentences  of  the  good 
old  man  who  stammered  fearfully.  He  had  been  falsely  educated  by 
party  leaders  and  believed,  till  the  day  of  his  death,  if  he  lives  no 
longer,  that  Lincoln  was  the  author  of  all  the  woes  that  befell  the 
South. 

The  air  was  clear,  sky  cloudless,  and  sun  shone  brightly  upon  house- 
tops in  the  valley.  Blue,  spiral  columns  of  smoke  ascended,  like 
incense,  toward  heaven,  from  chimneys  of  cottages,  in  the  beautiful 
valley  below,  when  we  discovered,  with  a  field-glass,  that  there  were 
no  Federal  soldiers  on  the  south  side  of  the  mountain.  Ascending 
to  the  summit  we  beheld  long  blue  lines  of  soldiers,  like  endless 
serpents,  winding  steadily  and  curving  with  the  roads  over  the  hills 
and  along  the  valley  toward  Chattanooga.  Palmer's  spies  and  scouts 
had  informed  him  that  Cleburne  was  ordered  back  from  Meridian^ 
Mississippi,  and  Palmer,  his  object  accomplished,  was  returning  to  his* 
original  position,  We  followed  him  a  few  miles  to  gather  in  stragglers 
and  secure  newspapers  and  possible  valuable  information. 

Our  purpose  accomplished,  we  went  to  Tunnel  Hill.  Here  we 
rested  for  a  few  days;  in  the  meantime  were  ordered  to  report  for 
active  service  to  General  B.  J.  Hill,  Provost  Marshal  General  of 
General  Joseph  E.  Johnston's  army. 

We  served  General  Cleburne  no  more. 

From  this  time  forth  our  toils  and  dangers,  as  we  well  knew,  would 
be  incessant.  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston,  among  his  soldiers,  was 
supposed  to  be  omniscient.  On  the  track  of  one  there  always  followed 
another  scout,  to  verify  or  correct  statements  made  by  the  first.  It 
was  impossible  to  mislead  the  General,  and  nothing  was  surer  to  send 
a  scout  to  service  in  the  ranks  than  any  exaggeration  of  the  importance 
or   number   or   value   of    facts   he   had   ascertained.     Most   soldiers 


78  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

engaged  in  this  business  reported  too  much.  They  saw  too  much; 
they  risked  too  much ;  they  triumphed  over  insuperable  obstacles  and 
achieved  results  that  the  wily  commander  knew  to  be  utterly  impos- 
sible. I  do  not  think  that  General  Johnston  was  ever  fatally  misled. 
I  was  often  amazed  because  of  his  possession  of  information  which  I 
thought  nobody  besides  myself  could  give.  Therefore,  I  never  reported 
inferences  for  facts,  and  never  anything  that  I  did  not  know  to  be 
absolutely  true.  He  was  never  unreasonable  and  never  exacted 
impossibilities.  I  was  ordered,  when  I  made  my  first  exit  from  our 
lines,  to  enter  those  of  the  enemy  and  report  their  strength  at  a  given 
point.  After  earnest  efforts  to  pass  the  Federal  pickets  during  three 
successive  nights,  I  returned  at  the  time  fixed,  to  General  Johnston's 
head-quarters ;  and  when  I  said  I  could  not  get  through  and  gave  the 
reasons,  the  General  thanked  me  and  at  once  sent  me  on  a  more 
dangerous  mission. 

It  is  not  always  possible  for  a  scout  to  discover  the  disposition  or 
strength  of  the  enemy's  troops.  Patient  watchfulness  and  slow, 
tedious  movements  along  deep  gullies  and  under  the  shadow  of  fences, 
crawling  through  briers  and  under-brush  and  crouching  low  when 
watchful  sentinels  grow  restive,  are  least  painful  and  tedious  of  tasks 
executed  by  scouts. 

I  am  satisfied  that  the  mere  proximity  of  an  unsuspected  scout  affects, 
unconsciously,  the  nerves  of  a  sentinel.  Of  course  the  poor  fellow 
does  not  know  that,  if  discovered,  I  am  ready  to  kill  him.  He 
can  not  be  conscious  of  unseen  dangers,  but  surely  recognizes 
unconsciously  the  presence  of  fate  impending.  He  begins  to  move  as 
the  scout  draws  nigh.  The  slightest  sound  made  by  a  broken  twig 
beneath  my  knees  and  hands,  as  I  would  creep  silently  by,  would 
make  the  drowsy  watcher  start  violently.  Peering  about  him  for  a 
time  into  the  darkness,  he  would  again  resume  his  ceaseless,  steady 
march.  Why,  otherwise,  do  sentinels,  when  the  stealthy,  noiseless 
scout  approaches,  at  once  become  silent  ?  The  melody  that  was 
chanted  in  low,  soft  tones  while  the  sentinel  was  dreaming  of  the 
pretty  girl  that  sang  it  at  her  own  northern  fireside,  when  at  length  I 
can  almost  see  the  color  of  his  eyes,  is  heard  no  more,  I  have 
never  drawn  near  enough  to  one  of  these  watching,  and  therefore, 
nervously  excited  sentinels  that  I  was  not  sure  that  he  was  told  by 
some  invisible  scheme  of  telegraphy  of  my  presence,  of  my  purpose, 
and  of  imminent  dangers  that  beset  him.  He  whistled  no  more  ;  his 
lowly  uttered  song  that  he  was  humming  was  silenced  ;  and  he  was 
conscious  surely  of  vague  apprehensions  of  undiscoverable  danger.  In 
my  inmost  heart  I  have  pitied  an  unhappy  sentinel  exposed  to  dangers 
he  never  measured  and  moved,  by  an  instinct  he  did  not  compre- 
hend, to  tremble  when  he  did  not  know  that  a  bullet  would  pierce  his 
brain  at  the  very  instant  he  discovered  me.  But  the  sentinel's  death 
was  no  more  painful  to  him  than  the  mode  and  fact  of  taking  his  life 
were  alike  hateful  to  me.  He  would  surely  have  killed  me  ;  therefore, 
I  slew  him.     For  all  that,  the  necessity  and  the  fact  were  alike  horrible. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  79 

Henceforth  we  were  to  go  on  foot  in  pairs.  We  were  to  move  by 
day  and  night.  We  were  to  live  between  the  picket  lines  of  the  two 
armies.  We  were  to  deal  with  spies  and  scouts  and  bushwhackers  and 
loyalists.  Whatever  the  hour  at  which  we  reached  our  lines  to  make 
our  reports,  we  were  arrested  and  taken  under  guard  to  the  provost 
marshal  of  the  army  and  thence  to  General  Johnston's  head-quarters. 
It  happened  on  one  occasion  that  one  of  my  comrades  was  shot  and 
killed,  and  his  passports  were  secured  by  bushwhackers.  I  came 
immediately  to  head-quarters  and  reported  the  fact.  Instantly  Gen- 
eral Johnston  revoked  all  permits  to  pass  the  lines  and  every  one 
seeking  to  enter  was  put  under  guard  and  sent  to  the  provost  marshal. 
We  captured  five  men  with  forged  copies  of  the  dead  scout's  papers 
within  our  lines.  They  were  all  shot  by  decree  of  a  drum-head  court- 
martial.  I  was  amazed  to  learn  the  next  day,  from  a  Yankee  scout  I 
captured,  that  he  knew  the  fate  of  the  five  unhappy  men  who  attempted 
to  use  copies  of  the  passport  that  belonged  to  my  dead  comrade.  He 
said  : 

"Your  General  Johnston  is  a  wary  old  fox.  We  thought  we  had  a 
safe  and  sure  means  of  ingress  and  egress  through  your  lines  when  we 
secured  perfect  fac  similes  of  the  paper  signed  by  General  Johnston 
himself.  By  his  instant  revocation  of  all  passports,  and  thus,  the 
capture  and  examination  at  head-quarters  of  all  persons  entering  your 
lines,  five  ardent  bushwhackers  lost  their  lives." 

Our  picket  lines  were  quite  nine  miles  from  Dalton,  and  many 
nights,  walking  this  distance  when  the  whole  army  slept,  have  I 
wished  that  I  were  reduced  to  the  ranks.  Weary  and  footsore  I 
trudged,  buoyed  up  by  the  ho  pie  that  the  intelligence  I  bore  would 
serve  or  save  the  Confederate  army.  There  was,  however,  a  degree 
of  fascination  in  risks  constantly  hazarded,  and  in  this  life  of  constant 
excitement,  that  made  it  inexpressibly  fascinating. 

Then,  too,  I  was  conscious  that  in  the  ranks,  subjected  to  rigid 
discipline,  and  compelled  to  answer  at  roll-call,  I  could  never  achieve 
the  leading  purpose  of  my  life,  of  which  I  dreamed  day  and  night. 
The  hour  was  drawing  nigh  when,  if  the  good  schoolmaster  could 
execute  his  designs,  I  would  meet  Mamie  Hughes  and  when,  with  her 
guide,  she  would  be  entrusted  for  a  time  to  my  guardianship. 

General  Johnston,  when  giving  me  orders  and  instructions  late  at 
night,  said  : 

"You  are  the  eyes  and  ears  of  my  army." 
I  answered  : 

"My  eyes  will  do  perhaps,  but  I  hope  my  ears  are  not  big  enough  to 
provoke  the  suggestion." 

The  General  smiled  good  naturedly,  and  I  said, — and  I  could  not 
help  blushing   frightfully, — "General,   I   want   to   get  a    young  lady 
through  the  lines  to  her  mother's,  below  Tunnel  Hill." 
"  Is  she  of  kin  to  you  ? ' ' 
"No,  sir." 
"What,  then,  is  your  reason  for  this  evident  anxiety  on  your  part?" 


So  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  GAMP  FIRE. 

Turning  away,  that  he  might  not  scan  my  face  so  intently  with  his 
keen,  clear,  kindly  eyes,  I  said  : 

"If  you  have  a  moment's  leisure,  General,  I'll  tell  the  whole  story." 

His  elbow  rested  upon  the  little,  low,  pine  table  before  him,  strewn 
with  papers.  His  hand  supported  his  massive  head,  and  while  a 
smile,  half  incredulous  and  half  sympathetic,  played  about  his  face,  he 
listened  to  the  story  of  my  love. 

When  I  had  recounted  incidents  of  the  dance  by  moonlight  on  the 
banks  of  the  Tennessee  and  of  our  flight  across  Sequatchie  Valley 
into  the  Cumberland  Mountains,  I  told  the  story  of  the  old  scold  and 
of  her  immersion  by  Spratling  in  the  barrel-churn.  The  General 
could  not  contain  himself,  and  forgetting,  for  the  moment,  the  great 
burden  of  anxieties  that  weighed  him  down,  he  laughed  till  his  sleep- 
ing staff  aroused  by  the  extraordinary  incident,  came  to  inquire  what 
had  happened. 

I  briefly  told  of  the  ex-bushwhacker  Mr.  Wade,  and  of  the  pass  I 
wanted  for  him.  My  requests  were  granted  with  instructions  to  guide 
me  for  the  ensuing  week,  when,  saying,  "I  will  always  be  grateful, 
General,"  I  tipped  my  cap  and  bowed  myself,  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  out  of  his  presence. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


The  Pedagogue  Talks  of  Mamie  Hughes. — Physical  Wonders  of  East  Tennessee. — 
Sequatchie  Valley. — An  Ancient  Ocean. — Mamie  Philosophizes. — The  Negro  as 
a  Soldier. 

I  had  passed  out  of  the  lines,  and  with  Spratiing,  awaited  at  the 
rendezvous,  near  La  Fayette,  the  coming  of  Mr.  Wade,  the  ex-bush- 
whacker and  pedagogue.  He  reached  our  encampment  at  ten  o'clock 
on  the  day  fixed  for  our  meeting.  When  I  greeted  him,  extending 
my  right,  I  held  up  the  left  hand,  proffering  the  passport  of  General 
Joseph  E.  Johnston.  I  am  sure  the  generous,  good  man  never 
confessed  in  eyes  and  face  a  keener  pleasure.  His  life  had  been 
devoted  to  the  service  of  others.  He  was  now  a  homeless  wanderer. 
Incapable  of  any  task  save  such  as  life-long  schoolmasters  assume  and 
deprived  of  the  privilege  of  waging  war  against  the  Confederacy,  he 
was  even  grateful  for  that  of  serving  Mamie  and  myself,  and  infinitely 
grateful  for  the  confidence  reposed  in  his  truthfulness,  integrity,  and 
courage.  When  I  gave  him  the  passport,  he  said  he  had  seen  Mamie's 
mother,  delivered  Mamie's  letter,  and  after  spending  a  day  and  night 
beneath  the  roof  of  Mamie's  hospitable  home,  conceived  it  his  duty  to 
fulfill,  speedily  and  faithfully,  promises  given  the  mother  and  daughter. 

"If  not  arrested  and  detained  in  the  Federal  lines  at  Charleston  or 
its  vicinity,  I  will  meet  you,"  he  said,  "three  weeks  hence  at  the  old 
camping  place  near  Tunnel  Hill.  I  have  no  pass  for  Mamie  granted 
by  General  Sherman's  Provost  Marshal,  and  if  I  find  it  difficult  to 
secure  or  the  task  tedious,  Mamie  does  not  lack  courage,  and  as  a  lad  of 
fifteen  years  would  gladly  and  naturally  follow  these  gray  hairs.  I  am  so 
well  known  among  the  soldiers  and  officers  at  the  Hiwassee  bridge 
that  I  am  sure  I  will  encounter  little  hazard  and  that  I  can  come  south 
with  Mamie  having  no  other  '  permit '  than  that  which  I  have  been 
accustomed  to  use.  The  worst  that  can  happen  will  be  the  return  to 
Mamie's  present  home   on   the  north  side   of  the  river.     Then  she 

6 


82  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

must  enact  the  role  of  a  country  boy  and  we  will  come  down  safely 
through  that  great,  empty  arm  of  the  primeval  sea  now  known  as 
Sequatchie  Valley.  You  crossed  it,  without  a  vessel  and  at  night  and 
dry  shod,  not  very  long  ago,  but  the  time  was,  at  some  remote  period  in 
the  world's  history,  when  mightiest  ships  could  have  floated  serenely  on 
the  bosom  of  its  fathomless  waters.  A  little  creek  drains  it  to  day. 
This  stream  I  have  followed  from  its  source,  gathering  old,  very  old 
sea  shells  on  its  banks  and  counting  deep,  long,  and  parallel  fissures 
worn  by  the  ocean  waves  far  up  the  mountain  sides  that  hedge  in  this 
marvelous  Sequatchie  Valley.  In  studying  this  sublime  history  of  a 
mighty  sea,  walled  in  on  every  hand,  receiving  great  tributary  streams 
through  Cumberland  and  other  Gaps,  overspreading  the  district  known 
as  East  Tennessee,  and  discharging  its  superabundant  floods,  in 
the  olden  eternity  of  the  past,  through  Sequatchie  Valley,  she  will 
confess  the  keenest  and  most  intelligent  interest.  Then  Sequatchie 
Valley  was  a  Straits  of  Gibraltar  at  the  entrance  to  another  Mediter- 
ranean. In  studying  these  marvelous  pages  of  God's  greatest  Book — 
Nature — Mamie  will  forget  dangers  and  fatigue  and  forget,  now  and 
then,  that  she  ever  danced  with  you  by  moonlight  on  the  banks  of  the 
turbulent  Tennessee.  I  have  wandered  again  and  again  through  this 
deep,  broad  valley,  an  ancient  river's  bed,  and  am  sure  I  can  escape 
from  East  Tennessee  into  Georgia  by  following  it  along  the  mountain's 
base  or  summit.  I  know  the  simple,  honest  mountaineers  and  no 
picket  lines  or  armies  can  close  countless  paths  along  which  they  will 
guide  me  even  to  this  very  spot.  Mamie's  youthful  vigor,  her  life  in 
the  open  air,  her  eager  anxiety  to  return  to  her  widowed  mother  and 
to" — here  the  kindly  pedagogue  hesitated  and  looked  furtively  into 
my  face,  while  I  could  see  cunning  smiles  dancing  hornpipes  in  his 
merry  eyes — "to  soothe  her  sorrows,"  he  continued,  "would  enable 
her  to  withstand  the  fatigues  and  dangers  of  the  toilsome;  tedious 
journey. 

"The  climate  of  this  mountainous  region,  where  the  sea  itself  was 
once  bathed  in  sunlight,  is  faultless.  It  begets  buoyancy  of  heart  and 
spirit ;  and  consciousness  of  existence,  in  this  blessed  valley,  is  an 
undefinable,  delicious  joy.  The  skies  are  roseate  with  eternal  sunshine. 
The  atmosphere,  bereft  of  moisture  by  mountains  on  every  hand,  is  so 
crystalline  that  distance  fails,  by  half,  as  elsewhere,  to  lessen  objects 
of  vision.  The  sun  rises  in  cloudless,  gorgeous  splendor  and  sets  in  a 
sea  of  golden  glory.  No  shadow  of  cloud  veils  its  glowing  disc.  The 
moon  is  wafted  by  night  over  an  inverted,  starry  ocean,  and  glows  with 
a  brilliancy  elsewhere  unknown.  The  stars  are  blazing  electric  lights 
to  illumine  God's  dwelling  place  and  pathway. 

"In  a  coming  age,  when  peace  and  unity  are  restored,  men  and 
women  will  dwell  here  whose  tastes  and  intelligence  will  be  shaped  by 
grand  physical  facts  and  aspects  of  nature  about  them,  and  the 
grandest  race  on  God's  footstool  will  dwell  in  Sequatchie  Valley. 

"Pardon  my  enthusiasm.  I  love  East  Tennessee,  the  land  of  my 
birth.     I  only  wish  to  assure  you  that  you  need  have  no  fears.     Mamie 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  83 

has  been  climbing  the  hills,  rowing  a  boat,  learning  how  to  use  a 
repeater,  and  riding  horses  for  months.  Recently  her  industry,  since 
she  proposed  to  make  the  journey  on  foot  to  Tunnel  Hill,  has  been 
redoubled,  and  I  am  persuaded  that,  when  she  reaches  this  place,  she 
will  be  eager  to  join  in  one  of  your  hazardous  incursions  into  the 
Federal  lines. 

"And  yet  when  I  was  leaving  Mamie,  she  came  and  kissed  my 
wrinkled  brow  and  said  that  my  face  and  conduct  and  the  stories  I 
told  always  inculcated  the  lesson  which  she  had  learned  to  lisp  in 
childhood  : 

"  '  Naked  on  parents'  knees,  a  new-born  child, 
Weeping  thou  sat'st  when  all  around  thee  smiled. 
So  live  that,  sinking  to  thy  last  long  sleep, 
Thou  then  canst  smile  while  all  around  thee  weep.' 

"She  has  perfect  health,  and  if  a  Mohammedan,  instead  of  a 
Christian,  would  be  pronounced  horribly  fanatical.  Of  fear  she  never 
knew  an  emotion,  and  is  only  timidly  modest.  Dismiss  all  anxiety. 
She  will  meet  you  in  three  weeks  at  Tunnel  Hill.  I  was  reading  to 
Mamie  the  verse  which  tells  that 

"  'Brutes  find  out  where  their  talents  lie  ; 

A  bear  will  not  attempt  to  fly ; 

A  foundered  horse  will  oft  debate, 

Before  he  tries  a  five-barred  gate ; 

A  dog  by  instinct  turns  aside, 

Who  sees  the  ditch  too  deep  and  wide ; 

But  man  we  find  the  only  creature 

Who,  led  by  folly,  combats  nature ; 

And  when  he  loudly  cries,  forbear, 

With  obstinacy  fixes  there  ; 

And  where  his  genius  least  inclines, 

Absurdly  bends  his  whole  designs.' 

"She  looked  up  when  I  closed  the  little  volume  in  which  the  stanza 
was  pasted,  and  asked  if  I  sought  to  convey  a  lesson  for  her  to  study. 

"  'Do  I  propose,'  she  asked,  '  "to  combat  nature"  Avhen  I  would 
ride  the  most  unmanageable  horse  ?  My  sex  cannot  vote,  and  yet  I 
read  with  keenest  interest  discussions  of  political  questions.  I  am 
taxed  ;  I  toil  to  add  to  public  wealth  ;  and  yet  I  must  fill  only  the 
meanest  places  in  industrial  life.  We  are  paid  less  than  men  for  the 
same  and  better  service  in  public  schools.  We  are  used  as  nurses,  but 
reviled  as  physicians.  Barbarous  codes  of  one  thousand  years  ago, 
enacted  by  opinion  and  custom  when  men  were  mere  fighting  brutes 
and  shaped  the  blessed  Common  Law,  still  fix  the  position  and  define 
the  rights  of  my  sex.  Kept  in  ignorance,  the  calamity  repeats  itself 
forever ;  and  womanly  ignorance  and  weakness  refuse  to  demand 
woman's  emancipation.  I  never  felt  the  burden  of  fetters  I  wear  as  a 
woman  till  I  wished  to  assert  myself  and,  guarding  myself  and  defying 
danger,  return  to  my  home  in  Georgia.  "Brutes,"  as  the  poet  tells, 
"find  out  where  their  talents  lie;"  but  women  are  not  suffered   to 


84  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

have  talents.  They  can  aspire  to  nothing  higher  or  nobler  or  more 
useful  than  offices  of  washerwoman  and  housekeeper  for  despotic 
husbands  who  come  home  from  ballot-boxes  and  public  meetings  for 
food  we  must  cook  and  clothes  we  must  cleanse.  We  are  not  even 
supposed  to  know  why  war  rages  or  what  you  insane,  selfish,  wicked 
men  are  fighting  about.  My  conviction  is  that  the  main  cause  of  the 
measureless  calamity  is  found  in  the  fact  that  surfeited  flies,  feasting 
through  forty  years  upon  public  pap,  have  been  brushed  away  that 
another  swarm,  starved  through  nearly  half  a  century,  may  prey  upon 
the  people.  I  have  observed  that  every  Federal  office-holder  ejected 
by  Lincoln's  election  was  instantly  a  howling,  hooting  secessionist. 
He  set  his  neighbors,  family,  and  friends  in  an  uproar,  and  by  sheer 
violence  silenced  opposition  to  the  frenzied  place-hunters.  But  isn't 
it  singular  that  women,  knowing  nothing  of  questions  involved  and 
the  least  possible  of  results  to  follow,  are  most  violent  and  earnest 
partisans  either  of  the  South  or  of  the  North.  I  can't  help  it,'  said 
Mamie,  'but  I  do  wish  we  women  were  differently  educated  and 
reared  with  higher  and  nobler  purposes,  and  imbued  with  nobler 
convictions  and  loftier  aims  than  those  now  hedging  in  our  unworthy 
aspirations. 

"  'When  I  was  nearly  fifteen  years  old,  standing  before  the  mirror  at 
my  sick  mother's  bedside,  she  was  telling  me  of  the  terrors  of  this 
horrible  inter-state  war  "precipitated  by  him  who  madly  fired  the  gun 
at  Sumter  that  set  the  continent  aflame."  ''There  are  terrible  days 
coming,"  said  my  mother.  "Why  do  you  weep?"  I  asked.  Her 
answer  was,  "Because  you  are  not  my  son  rather  than  my  daughter." 
I,  too,  wept.  And  every  tear  we  shed  was  illustrative  of  the  terrors 
of  a  code  which  has  fixed  the  status  and  defined  a  sphere  of  inferior 
action  for  my  sex  from  the  Dark  Ages  even  to  this  good  hour.  We 
have  become  at  last  separate  property  holders.  We  can  testify  in 
courts.  We  are  at  last,  as  wives,  separable  in  matters  of  property  from 
the  man.  We  could  not  enter  literary  colleges  or  medical  schools,  but 
nearly  all  these  are  open  to  us  at  last.  We  have  found  access  to  the 
pulpit  and  bar,  and  our  worth  and  equality  and  keenness  of  perception 
and  skill  in  art  and  in  the  professions  are  confessed.  We  are  advanc- 
ing steadily  and  will  be  finally  invested  with  every  privilege  of 
citizenship.  The  right  will  finally  triumph,  and  mothers  will  weep 
no  more  that  daughters  are  not  sons.' 

"Such  was  the  substance,  captain,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  "of 
Mamie's  earnest,  vigorous  speech  made  to  me  as  her  audience.  I  was 
delighted,  because  I  believe  as  she  does;  and  let  me  tell  you,  captain, 
that  the  exigencies  of  this  war  have  stirred  many  an  idle  intellect  to 
its  profoundest  depths.  Even  that  little  sweetheart  of  yours  becomes 
a  philosopher,  dealing  with  questions  of  state-craft.  She  said  to  me 
one  morning,  and  I  don't  understand  it  all  yet,  that  the  South  pre- 
tended to  fight  because  it  couldn't  take  negroes  to  Kansas  where 
nobody  could  or  would  have  a  slave,  free  labor  being  cheaper  than 
that  of  slaves.     Then  she  said : 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  85 

"  'Within  a  life-time,  after  slavery  is  no  more,  the  South  will  never 
believe  that  it  ever  approved  the  institution,  and  he  will  be  execrated 
who  asserts  that  the  South  fought  that  Mr.  Toombs  might  "call  the 
roll  of  his  slaves, "as  he  prophesied,  "on  Bunker  Hill,"  or  even  in 
Georgia.  The  negro,  like  my  sex,  has  almost  reached  the  proper 
period  of  preparation,  and  slow  emancipation  was  coming,  even  if  the 
bayonet  had  not  intervened.' 

"General  Cleburne,"  said  Mr.  Wade,  "and  the  ablest  officers  in 
your  army  illustrate  the  force  and  accuracy  of  this  girl's  reasoning. 
They  propose,  even  now,  to  convert  slaves  into  soldiers,  making 
faithful  soldierly  service  the  price  of  negro  freedom.  I  am  told  that 
politicians  who  became  generals,  except  Cleburne,  oppose,  but  the 
greater  number  of  officers  and  men  approve  the  proposition.  A 
soldier  is  only  a  breathing  machine.  One  perfectly  disciplined 
human  creature  is  as  valuable  as  another.  Confessing  this  fact, 
soldiers  of  the  South  do  not  object  to  the  imposition  of  a  share  of 
their  toils  and  dangers  upon  these  slaves.  But  Jefferson  Davis,  it  is 
said,  objects,  and  negroes  may  not  be  suffered,  like  other  races,  to 
fight  for  their  own  freedom. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


Spratling  and  Bessie  Starnes. — The  Pedagogue  corrects  a  Chapter  in  the  History  of 
the  War. — Who  killed  General  John  H.  Morgan? — How  he  was  Esteemed. — 
The  Camp  Fire. — The  Newspaper  Man  and  the  Pedagogue. — A  Political  Dis- 
cussion.— Absurdties  of  Revolution. — The  Two  Nations  and  the  Confederate 
War-Song. 

Spratling,  I  well  knew,  was  anxious  to  revisit  the  home  of  Bessie 
Starnes,  the  pretty,  black-eyed  mountaineer's  daughter,  who  half  prom- 
ised and  half  refused  to  love  him.  It  was  part  of  my  duty  to  learn 
whether  the  Federal  army  corps,  encamped  not  far  from  Bessie's 
home,  had  changed  its  position.  Spratling,  advised  of  every  order 
I  was  required  to  execute,  gladly  agreed  to  go  alone  and  ascertain  the 
facts,  assuring  me  that  Bessie  would  tell  him  everything  that  had 
occurred  in  that  vicinitv. 

"Oh!  she  is  bright-eyed  and  cunning  and  silent,"  said  Spratling. 
"She  told  me,  when  I  was  coming  away,  that  she  often  learned  what 
I  was  most  anxious  to  know.  Bessie  listens  intently  when  Federal 
officers  breakfast  with  the  pretty,  black-eyed,  laughter-loving  moun- 
tain lassie.  She  asks  how  long  they  will  remain  where  they  are, 
'because  she  will  be  so  idle  and  lonely  when  gallant  men  and  officers 
leave  the  neighborhood.'  She  told  me  she  would  have  a  'big  lot  of 
news  to  tell  me '  when  I  came  back.  Very  many  Union  soldiers,  of 
different  Tennessee  regiments,  went  from  Bessie's  neighborhood. 
These  constantly  revisit  their  homes  and  tell  the  seemingly  careless, 
but  curious  girl  all  they  know.  She  knows  the  strength  of  each 
Tennessee  regiment  and  brigade,  and  who  commands,  and  where  they 
are  encamped.  She  corresponds  constantly  with  a  young  Georgian 
in  Cliff's  Tennessee  'loyal'  regiment.  The  truth  is,  I  think  he  is  my 
rival;  and  if  the  fortunes  of  war  so  ordered,  I  would  not  not  weep  if 
his  career  were  brief  and  brilliant.  I  have  thought,  when  Bessie  was 
gazing  abstractedly  in  my  face  and  when  she  was  evidently  measuring 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  87 

my  virtues  and  worth,  that  she  was  weighing  these  against  the  admir- 
able qualities  of  heart  and  person  that  distinguish,  as  she  told  me, 
the  young  Georgian  in  the  Union  army.  But  despite  her  possible  love 
for  him,  she  will  be  true  to  me  as  a  rebel.  Her  sympathies  are  wholly 
with  the  South." 

The  gigantic  Spratling  soon  left  us,  moving  down  the  long  slope  of 
the  rocky  hill-side  with  an  elasticity  in  his  movements  and  healthful 
vigor  in  his  gigantic  body  and  limbs  that  compelled  us  to  watch  and 
admire,  as  he  went  bounding  rapidly  down  the  declivity.  His  foot- 
steps were  hastened  by  anxiety  to  listen  once  more  to  the  rich  tones 
of  Bessie's  musical  voice  and  gaze  in  the  fathomless  depths  of  her 
fascinating,  brilliant  eyes  ;  and  perhaps  he  dreamed  of  dewy,  pouting 
lips  he  had  never  kissed. 

When  Spratling  had  disappeared,  Mr.  Wade  said  to  me  that  he  had 
a  newspaper  containing  an  absurd  and  inaccurate  and  untruthful 
account  of  the  shooting  of  the  Confederate  raider,  General  John  H. 
Morgan. 

"I  was  in  Greenville  when  Gillem's  command  made  its  descent 
upon  the  place.  Gillem  himself  did  not  know  that  Morgan  was  in 
the  village.  He  was  advised,  which  was  true,  that  Morgan  had  gone 
to  Abingdon,  Virginia,  to  see  his  wife,  who  had  just  become  a  mother. 
But  Morgan  hastened  back  to  Greenville,  for  reasons  that  became 
apparent  when  we  secured  his  private  and  official  papers,  even  the 
letters  from  his  very  passionately  devoted  wife. 

"Morgan  made  no  secret  of  his  purpose  to  attack  Gillem.  In  fact 
he  was  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  executing  at  once  some  brilliant 
stroke  of  heroism  or  of  retiring  in  disgrace  from  the  Confederate 
service.  His  exactions,  levied  alike  upon  friend  and  foe,  and  outrages, 
practised  even  upon  rebels  or  upon  the  wives  and  children  of  Con- 
federate soldiers,  forced  General  Echols  to  order  him  to  transfer  his 
authority  to  his  next  in  command.  Morgan  resolved  to  fight,  and  if 
possible,  destroy  Gillem,  and  thus  win  such  eclat  that  Echols  would  be 
compelled  to  revoke  this  order.  Unhappily  for  Morgan,  he  was 
induced  to  spend  a  night  at  the  elegant  home  of  his  aide-de-camp, 
Major  Williams,  whose  widowed  mother  resides  in  Greenville.  Cards, 
wine,  and  most  accomplished  women — one  of  these,  Miss  N.  N.  Scott, 
a  grandaughter  of  H.  L.  White,  Andrew  Jackson's  great  rival — made 
sleep,  till  a  late  hour,  impossible. 

"About  sunrise,  Mrs.  Williams,  finding  her  home  surrounded  by 
East  Tennessee  Union  soldiers  led  by  Colonel  John  B.  Brownlow  and 
others,  hurried  to  Morgan's  room.  She  knocked.  He  awoke  and 
came  in  his  night  clothes  to  learn  that   he  must  fly  or  be  put  to  death. 

"'These  men  will  not  spare  you,'  she  said.  'I  hear  them,  even 
now,  threatening  to  burn  my  home.  They  have  learned  that  you 
are  here.' 

"Mrs  Williams  told  me  all  this,"  said  Mr.  Wade. 

"Morgan  hastily  drew  on  his  pantaloons,  and  leaving  his  coat  and 
vest,  the  former  having  on  the   collar   the   insignia   of  his  rank,  ran 


88  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

down  stairs  and  out  through  the  back  door  and  down  the  high,  broad 
steps  that  led  into  a  garden  and  vineyard  in  the  rear  of  the  building. 

'"Meanwhile,  Major  Williams,  instead  of  following  Morgan  to  the 
small,  frame  church  under  which  Morgan  proposed  to  conceal  himself 
and  thence  escape  into  the  woods  not  far  away, — the  church  was  quite 
fifty  or  sixty  yards  from  the  residence, — took  refuge  under  the  steps- 
which  Morgan  descended  into  the  vineyard.  A  good-natured  dog's 
family  here  had  their  bed  of  sticks  and  straw.  Williams,  almost 
suffocated  by  the  process,  covered  himself  with  the  dog's  bed,  remain- 
ing there  till  ten  or  eleven  o'clock,  when  the  Union  soldiers  left  the 
yard.  Then  he  crawled  into  an  empty  cistern,  and  shuddered  when 
a  Union  soldier  walked  over  it,  saying,  as  he  lifted  the  cover  and 
looked  down  into  the  darkness,  that  he  would  'get  a  squad  to  fire  into 
that  d d  hole  ;  it  may  be  half  full  of  thieving  Morgan's  men.' 

"  Williams  deeming  the  place  unhealthy,"  continued  the  pedagogue,, 
"crept  out  and,  entering  the  kitchen,  was  concealed  by  his  'black 
mammy,'  the  fat  queen  of  the  kitchen,  beneath  the  floor.  Meanwhile,. 
Brownlow's  soldiers  captured  Captain  Clay,*  grandson  of  the  match- 
less popular  leader,  Henry  Clay,  of  Kentucky.  From  him  I  learned 
many  facts  which  I  now  recite. 

"General  Morgan  was  seen,  when  approaching  the  rear  of  the 
church,  by  one  of  Colonel  Brownlow's  men  and  forced  to  return 
towards  Mrs.  Williams'  residence.  He  had  retraced  half  the  distance 
to  the  house  and  was  in  the  little  vineyard,  the  vines  waist  high, 
when  Andrew  Campbell,  a  private,  on  the  outside  of  the  enclosure, 
fired  upon  Morgan,  who  was  moving  rapidly.  Morgan  fell,  dying 
instantly.  Members  of  Mrs.  Williams'  household  at  once  made  the 
fact  known  to  our  soldiers  that  the  great  guerrilla  was  slain.  Mean- 
while, many  of  Colonel  Brownlow's  men, — the  brigade  was  an  East 
Tennessee  organization, — having  unrestrained  access  to  the  whiskey 
shops  of  the  town,  were  half  drunken.  Morgan's  dead  body,  still 
bleeding, — the  blood  issuing  from  the  orifice  made  by  the  musket  ball 
in  his  back, — was  taken  from  the  garden  by  Captain  Northington,. 
placed  across  the  bow  of  his  saddle,  and  thus  borne  on  horse-back 
through  the  streets  of  Greenville.  This  was  done  that  the  people  and 
soldiers  might  know  that  the  terrible  raider  and.  plunderer  was  dead. 

"Morgan  may  have  been  a  better  man  than  they  deemed  him,  but 
he  was  abhorred,  as  a  lawless  robber,  ruffian,  and  heartless  freebooter,, 
by  the  common  people  of  East  Tennessee.  Horrible  stories  were  told 
of  his  brutalities  and  crimes,  and  whether  well  founded  or  not,  it  is 
certainly  true  that  his  alleged  lawless  deeds  caused  the  promulgation 
of  the  order  depriving  him  of  his  command,  which  we  found  among 
his  papers  in  Mrs.  Williams'  house. 

"It  is  proper  to  say  that  General  Gillem  was  of  obscure  origin.  His 
mother  was  keeper  of  an  apple-stand  in  Grainesborough,  Jackson 
County,    East    Tennessee.     He   was    the   protege   of  General  Alvin 

*Captain  Clay  is  still  living  in  East  Tennessee. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  89 

Cullum,  formerly  circuit  judge  at  Gainesborough  and,  later,  member 
of  Congress.  While  sitting  in  Congress,  Cullum  sent  Gillem  to  West 
Point  and  Andrew  Johnson,  because  Gillem  was  an  East  Tennesseeanr 
caused  him  to  be  transferred  from  a  quarter-master's  to  a  brigadier 
general's  position.  Gillem's  nomination  was  still  unconfirmed  by 
the  Senate  when  his  command  moved  upon  Greenville. 

"Gillem,  when  Colonels  Brownlow,  Miller,  and  Ingerton  urged  him. 
to  attack    Morgan's  command  in    Greenville,   when    they  supposed 
Morgan   to  be  in   Abingdon,  refused  to  do  so.     He  finally   agreed., 
that  the  attack  might  be  made.     When  his  subordinate  officers  men- 
tioned moved  upon  the  place  through  a  pitiless  and  ceasless  rain-storm,- 
marching  at  night  over  the  worst  possible  roads,  to  attack  a  force  twice 

as  strong  as  their  own,  Gillem  said  to  Brownlow  that  it  was  'a  d d 

wild  goose  chase  and  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.' 

"Brownlow  answered,  'If  we  don't  attack  Morgan,  we  know  he 
means  to  attack  us.  Then  we  will  be  surely  beaten.  As  assailants,, 
we  will  be  victorious. ' 

"But  Gillem  refused  at  last  to  participate  in  the  assault  upon  Green- 
ville, remaining  several  miles  away  at  a  country  farmhouse.  When 
he  came  into  Greenville  he  encountered  Colonel  Brownlow  who  had 
pursued  Morgan's  flying  men  more  than  five  miles  toward  Jonesboro' 
and  returned  to  Greenville. 

"Brownlow  said  to  Gillem,  'We  have  killed  General  Morgan.' 

"Gillem  supposed  Morgan  to  be  in  Abingdon  where  he  was  seen  by 
Gillem's  spies.     Therefore,  he  believed  that  Brownlow  was  jesting. 

"  'There,'  said  Brownlow,  'is  Captain  Clay,  of  General  Morgan's- 
staff.     Let  me  introduce  you.     He  will  confirm  my  statements.' 

"Gillem  was  amazed  and  the  more  delighted.  The  United  States 
Senate  had  recently  refused  to  confirm  his  nomination  as  brigadier 
general.  He  knew  that  this  sublime  luck,  in  the  achievement  of 
which  he  had  not  the  slightest  agency,  assured  his  confirmation." 

Gillem  was  not  mistaken.  The  taking  off  of  the  rebel  raider 
made  Gillem  a  major  general  and,  after  peace,  a  colonel  in  the 
regular  army.  He  will  be  remembered  for  the  defeat  he  suffered  in 
the  lava  beds  at  the  hands  of  the  red  warrior  Captain  Jack. 

It  should  be  stated  perhaps,  in  connection  with  this  recital  of  facts 
by  the  ex-bushwhacker,  that  it  may  be  colored  somewhat  by  his 
prejudices,  but  he  could  have  no  selfish  motive  impelling  him  to  do- 
injustice  to  Gillem  who  was  loaded,  it  seems,  with  honors  for  a  deed 
of  which  he  was  wholly  innocent.  Even  so  of  a  woman  who  left 
Mrs.  Williams'  house  the  evening  that  Morgan  arrived.  She,  or 
others  for  her,  caused  the  story  to  go  abroad  that  she  went  to  Gillem's 
head-quarters  that  night  and  telling  him  that  Morgan,  unguarded,, 
slept  at  Mrs.  Williams'  house,  induced  Gillem  to  assail  the  town.. 
Nothing  is  further  from  the  truth. 

Colonels  Brownlow,  Miller,  and  Ingerton  did  induce  Gillem  to 
assent  to  the  assault  upon  Morgan's  greater  force  than  their  own,  but 
the  argument  they  made,   as  already  given,   was  that,   in   Morgan's 


9o  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

absence,  his  command  would  be  much  more  easily  discomfited, 
and  they  knew  that  Morgan  or  they  themselves  must  be  beaten. 
Their  only  security  rested  in  an  offensive,  aggressive  campaign. 
But  Gillem  shrank  from  it  and  at  the  last  moment  stood  aloof, 
and  neither  conceived  nor  proposed  nor  executed  and  only  assented 
to  the  plans  of  his  subordinates,  Colonels  Brownlow,  Miller,  and 
Ingerton. 

"It  may  be  proper  to  say,"  added  the  schoolmaster,  "that  special 
credit  is  due  Captains  Wilcox  and  Xorthington  who  commanded  the 
squad  of  50  men  that  surrounded  Mrs.  Williams'  residence  and 
prevented  the  escape  of  Morgan  and  his  staff.  Major  Newell,  com- 
manding about  100  of  the  Tenth  Michigan  Cavalry,  actively 
co-operated  in  the  assault  upon  Morgan's  2200  men,  our  whole 
force  numbering  1100. 

"I  wish  to  add  that,  for  the  first  time  in  this  unhappy  war,  a  surgeon, 
A.  E.  Gibson,  here  distinguished  himself  by  acts  of  personal  valor. 
He  brought  down  his  man  with  a  musket  instead  of  a  dissecting 
knife ;  and  then,  when  the  fighting  was  done,  was  as  generous  and 
kindly  to  prisoners  he  captured  as  to  the  soldiers  of  his  own  (Colonel 
John  B.  Brownlow' s)  regiment.  By  the  way,  I  have  a  theory  that 
doctors,  as  well  as  poets,  are  born  not  made.  Dr.  Frank  A.  Ramsay, 
of  Knoxville,  would  have  been  the  first  pathologist  of  the  age  if  he 
had  never  read  a  book  or  managed  .countless  hospitals  or  sat  through 
all  the  years  of  his  busy  life  at  bedsides  of  the  sick  and  dying.  He 
reads  one's  disease  when  he  reads  his  face,  and  ministers  to  that  of 
mind  or  body  with  matchless  art." 

The  schoolmaster  and  I  were  resting  on  blankets  near  a  fire  that 
burned  against  the  body  of  a  great  fallen  oak.  We  heard  the  clatter 
of  horses'  hoofs  at  the  base  of  the  hill.  Knowing  that  these  horsemen 
would  surely  see  the  smoke  and  flame  and  inspect  our  resting  place, 
we  gathered  up  guns  and  baggage  and  went  into  denser  woods  in  the 
valley  below,  following  the  course  of  the  road  that  we  might  discover 
the  character  and  purposes  of  the  horsemen.  They  proved  to  be 
general  officers  of  the  Confederate  army  on  a  tour  of  inspection. 
They  were  accompanied  by  aides-de-camp  and  a  small  body  of 
cavalry.  Generals  Bate,  Walthall,  Cleburne,  Walker,  Mercer,  and 
perhaps  others  were  of  the  number.  I  was  delighted  to  meet  General 
Cleburne,  and  as  soon  as  I  heard  his  voice  and  before  I  recognized  his 
face,  ran  into  the  road  to  greet  him.  Cleburne  dismounting,  grasped 
my  hand,  and  commended  me.  in  a  kindly  little  speech,  to  his 
comrades,  telling  them  how  long  and  well  I  had  served  him  as  a  scout. 
I  was  pleased  to  see  with  General  Bate  the  newspaper  man  who  had 
assisted  at  baptismal  services  on  the  Cumberland  Mountains.  He 
was  evidently  delighted  to  encounter  me.  He  said  his  brother  John 
was  a  private  in  Pinson's  Mississippi  Cavalry,  and  that  he  was  spend- 
ing a  week  or  two  with  John  and  with  General  Bate.  I  suggested  to 
the  journalist  the  possibility  of  exciting  adventures  between  the  lines, 
and  proposed  his  participation  in  dangers  of  an  incursion  into 
Tennessee.     I    adverted    to    the    delightful    companionship    of    the 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  91 

pedagogue,  who  spun  interminable  yarns,  in  a  modest,  unobtrusive 
way,  through  days  and  nights  by  glowing  camp  fires.  The  editor  was 
captured,  I  think,  by  the  pedagogue.  He  gave  his  horse  to  his  brother 
and  even  after  swimming  the  icy  Tennessee  at  Bridgeport,  was  pleased 
to  renew  modes  of  life  peculiar  to  those  who  never  dared  to  sleep 
beneath  a  roof  and  rarely  twice  within  a  month  at  the  same  place. 
The  journalist  and  I,  after  arranging  for  a  future  meeting  with  his 
brother,  and  after  I  had  given  General  Cleburne  a  hurried  description 
of  the  country  and  told  him  that  he  was  then  six  miles  from  the 
enemy's  nearest  outposts  and  twelve  from  his  own,  bade  adieu  to 
officers  and  men  and  soon  joined  the  pedagogue  at  the  camp  fire. 

We  moved  that  afternoon  five  miles  toward  Starnes'  place.  Starnes' 
pretty  daughter,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  fascinated  Spratling  when 
we  captured  the  supposed  deserter  Ellison.  To  this  new  encampment 
Spratling  was  to  return  the  next  day.  Here  clearest,  most  delicious 
chalybeate  water  gushed  from  between  great  flat  stones  in  a  deep 
narrow  valley,  and  from  the  summit  of  the  high  hill  above  the  spring 
we  could  see  the  road  a  mile  along  its  tortuous  course  that  led  to 
Chattanooga.  The  schoolmaster  was  rapidly  recovering  from  the 
effects  of  his  toilsome  journey,  and  the  newspaper  man  ready  for  any 
adventure. 

Making  a  fire  of  materials  that  would  blaze  little  and  glow  in  living 
coals,  we  sat,  half-reclining  upon  blankets,  a  fallen  tree  serving  as  a 
pillow.  Broiled  bacon,  hard  tack,  and  coffee  taken  from  Mrs. 
Shields'  depository  of  supplies  constituted  materials  for  an  excellent 
evening  repast.  This  disposed  of,  we  lighted  our  pipes,  and  the  editor 
and  the  schoolmaster  began  to  discuss  the  course  of  public  and 
military  events.  I  had  given  the  journalist  a  brief  sketch  of  Mr. 
Wade's  career,  and  in  order  to  account  for  the  presence  of  such  a 
man  in  such  a  place,  had  shown  how  valuable  he  had  become. 

"In  1860-61,"  said  the  journalist,  "I  was  as  devout  a  Unionist  as 
yourself,  Mr.  Wade.  I  then  abhorred,  even  as  I  was  taught  in  child- 
hood to  hate  Benedict  Arnold,  those  who  advocated  the  secession  of 
the  South.  It  was  in  June,  1861,  that  I  inserted  a  paragraph  in  the 
newspaper  of  which  I  was  then  a  youthful  editor,  in  which  I  said 
there  was  no  practical  difference  between  Jefferson  Davis,  a  secession- 
ist, and  Wendell  Phillips,  an  abolitionist.  In  other  words,  I  declared 
secessionism  and  abolitionism  identical  in  purpose  and  results.  I  was 
arrested  under  a  decree  emanating  from  the  despotic  vigilance 
committee,  and  when  taken  before  that  body,  was  informed  by  the 
president,  Frazer  Titus,  an  honest,  good  citizen,  who  had  gone  mad 
with  many  like  him,  that  if  the  conduct  of  the  Daily  Bulletin  were 
not  conformed  to  the  necessities  of  the  Confederacy,  the  newspaper 
should  not  exist.  I  was  told  that  if  I  had  not  been  born,  reared,  and 
educated  in  the  South,  and  if  my  social  position  were  different,  I 
would  be  imprisoned  and  exiled.  This  occurred  just  before  Tennessee 
finally  agreed  to  co-operate  with  the  Gulf  States. 

"What  are  we  going  to   do  about  it?"  continued  the  newspaper 


92  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

■t 

man.  "Suppose  we  win  this  fight,  which  does  not  seem  very 
probable.  We  will  have  two  Unions  instead  of  one.  Each,  jealous 
of  the  other,  will  maintain  a  great  standing  army.  White  people  are 
tired  of  fighting  and  abhor  already,  every  fact  and  incident  of  the 
war.  It  is  stated  that  two-thirds  of  those  enlisted  as  Confederate 
soldiers  since  1861  have  deserted.  Admitting,  however,  that  the 
South  win,  will  it  retain  its  winnings?  Will  not  two  Unions,  if  we  fly 
from  one,  be  doubly  intolerable?  Will  the  people  endure  quadrupled 
burdens  of  taxation?  The  truth  is  I  don't  see  very  clearly  what  we 
are  fighting  for. 

"We  are  not  waging  war  for  negro  property.  Those  owning 
twenty  negroes  are  exempt  from  military  service.  Then  no  father  or 
mother  would  give  a  son's  life  for  all  the  blacks  on  the  continent. 
Then,  too,  negro  slavery  has  become  negro  'servitude'  and  if  there 
had  never  been  an  abolitionist  or  secessionist  to  keep  the  country  in 
an  uproar,  thus  enabling  them  to  secure  offices  and  honors  by  the 
consolidation  of  parties  and  sections,  if  the  right  of  petition  had 
never  been  denied,  the  slave  codes  of  the  several  southern  states  would 
have  been  mollified  and  the  process  of  emancipation,  as  Henry  Clay 
advised,  been  begun.  Even  with  these  fierce  slave  codes  nominally 
operative  and  now  and  then  enforced,  prohibiting  the  education  of 
negroes  and  subjecting  them  to  restraints  and  penalties  too  horrible  to 
approve,  negroes  on  every  plantation  are  taught  to  read  and  write, 
and  in  wide  districts  the  best  preachers  are  hired  to  minister  to  their 
spiritual  wants. 

"The  negroes  know  what  will  be  the  result  of  Federal  triumph  in 
this  conflict  and  yet  they  are  content  to  toil  industriously  and  create 
supplies  in  the  absence  of  masters  and  overseers  everywhere,  for  the 
armies  of  Jefferson  Davis.  Luckily  our  wives,  mothers,  sisters,  and 
sweethearts  are  left  at  home  under  the  guardianship  of  'servants' 
and  not  of  'slaves.'  The  next  step  in  African  redemption  should  be 
a  modification  of  the  Mexican  system  of  peonage,  and  then  should 
come  perfect  liberty.  President  Lincoln  entertains  proper  opinions 
on  this  subject,  and  General  Cleburne  and  others  of  our  leaders 
propose  to  give  absolute  freedom  to  those  negroes  who  serve  in  our 
army.  Many  of  our  general  officers  oppose  the  scheme  of  negro 
conscription,  but  such  multitudes  of  capable  white  men  now  escape  by 
nameless  and  numberless  subterfuges  and  deserters  become  so  innumer- 
able, that  the  negro  will  soon  be  required  to  do  more  than  feed  and 
clothe  and  care  for  the  families  of  these  soldiers.  General  Cleburne 
is  not  singular  in  advocating  negro  conscription  and  then  negro 
emancipation. 

"White  men  are  weary  of  the  toils  and  dangers  and  hardships  of 
these  terrible  campaigns  and  begin  to  think  that  as  soldiers  are  veriest 
slaves,  so  slaves  should  be  faultless  soldiers.  I  am  persuaded  that, 
however  the  war  result,  the  negro  will  be  the  gainer.  If  we  win,  it 
will  be  through  negro  intervention  as  a  soldier  and  because  negroes 
fed    and    clothed   us  and    have   taken  care  of  our  families  while  we 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  93 

fought.  In  the  county  in  which  my  father,  mother,  and  sisters  live  in 
Eastern  Mississippi  there  are  at  this  hour  thirty  thousand  negroes  and 
less  than  four  thousand  whites,  and  two-thirds  of  these  whites  are 
helpless  old  men  and  women  and  children.  I  have  never  dreamed  of 
danger  to  befall  those  I  love.  In  fact,  the  more  perfect  the  liberty 
given  this  peculiar  race  the  stronger  the  development  of  those  singular 
virtues  of  patience  and  kindliness  that  everywhere  distinguish  the 
African.  I  saw  a  letter  in  Harpers'  Meekly  written  in  i860  from  New 
Orleans,  by  James  Harper,  in  which  he  said  the  planters  of  the  South 
were  most  anxious  because  of  the  conduct  of  their  slaves;  pruning- 
hooks,  scythes,  axes,  and  all  implements  that  might  be  used  for 
murderous  purposes  were  carefully  removed  at  night  from  the  negroes' 
reach  and  that  servile  insurrections  were  greatly  dreaded.  Some 
knave  imposed  upon  Mr.  Harper.  I  have  never  heard  man  or  woman 
in  the  south  refer  to  the  negro  except  in  kindness,  and  never  heard  a 
suspicion  of  negro  fidelity  to  his  master  suggested,  and  now  quite  one 
half  of  our  generals  would  gladly  convert  the  blacks  into  soldiers, 
giving  freedom  to  each  family  whose  head  serves  a  year  or  falls  in  the 
ranks." 

I  asked  the  journalist  if  he  believed  negro  servitude  would  end  if  we 
won  victory  at  last. 

"Certainly,"  he  answered.  "Each  of  the  two  rival  Unions, 
Lincoln's  and  Jeff  Davis',  must  maintain  great  armies  and  fleets. 
Each  'nation'  will  fear  the  other.  White  men  are  already  weary  of 
military  life,  and  its  duties  will  be  assumed,  north  and  south,  by 
negroes.  Lincoln  and  Davis  will  finally  become  two  starveling,  lean, 
lank,  lantern-jawed  grand  Turks,  upheld  by  two  grand  armies  of 
black  janizaries.  Lincoln,  like  Andrew  Johnson,  is  a  native-born 
'plebeian,'  and  Jefferson  Davis  an  aristocrat.  But  whatever  their 
impulses  or  purposes,  they  will  be  helpless.  The  two  Unions,  because 
of  retro-active  pressure,  must  become  consolidated,  costly  despotisms. 
Burdens  of  taxation  will  be  enormous  and  the  people,  remembering 
the  time,  prior  to  i860,  when  we  did  not  know,  except  that  the  poli- 
ticians howled  mightily,  that  we  had  a  government,  will  force  their 
masters  to  reconstruct  the  Federal  Union.  Therefore  I  could  never 
see  any  use  in  secession  or  in  all  this  terrible  fighting.  The  end 
defined  is  inevitable,  If  the  North  triumph,  the  Union  will  be 
restored,  less  slavery;  if  the  South,  the  Union  will  be  as  surely 
reproduced  with  gradual  emancipation. 

"But  there  is  a  fight  progressing.  I  can't  stop  it  and  I  couldn't 
prevent   it.     I   am   only   for  the   under  dog   in   the  fight.      It  is  my 

d d  dog,"   said  the  journalist  laughingly,  while  he  contemplated 

the  smiling  face  of  the  drowsy  pedagogue,  who  said: 

"I  don't  see  that  we  differ  widely  enough  to  render  further 
discussion  a  necessity,  and  I  am  only  led  to  reflect  by  what  you  have 
stated,  that  when  the  disgusted,  weary  people  of  the  South  no  longer 
sing  that  horrible,  dolorous  ditty  which  has  utterly  unmanned  your 
soldiers  and  broken  the  spirit  of  your  women,  whose  pitiful  refrain  is 


94  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

'Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! ' — when  you  have  substituted  aggressive, 
vigorous  popular  melodies,  like  that  which  I  have  heard  chanted  by 
ten  thousand  voices  of  earnest  men  whose  heavy  tread  shook  the  earth, 
while  earth,  air,  and  ocean  caught  the  refrain,  'Old  John  Brown's 
soul  is  marching  on' — when  you  have  reproduced  the  spirit  of  the 
army  and  courage  of  the  people  by  showing  them  that  there  is  some 
grand  end  to  be  attained  by  fighting, — then,  and  not  till  then,  will 
Lee  and  Johnston  win  victories. 

Note. — In  confirmation  of  the  pedagogue's  statement  that  General  Gillem  had  nought 
to  dp  with  the  killing  of  General  Morgan,  it  is  stated  on  page  540  of  General  Basil 
Duke's  "  History  of  Morgan's  Cavalry,"  that  Morgan's  "body  was  taken  from  hands 
which  defiled  it  by  General  Gillem,  as  soon  as  that  officer  arrived  at  Greenville  and 
sent  to  us  under  a  flag  of  truce.  It  was  buried  at  Abingdon  and  afterward  in 
Hollywood  at  Richmond."  Thus  it  seems  that  Adjutant  General  Duke  knows  that 
General  Gillem  was  not  at  Greenville  when  Morgan  was  slain. 

General  Duke  recites  the  story  that  a  daughter-in-law  of  Mrs.  Williams  conveyed 
to  Gillem  the  news  that  Morgan  was  in  Greenville.  In  this  General  D.  is  wholly 
wrong.  Greenville  was  assailed  because  Morgan  was  supposed  to  be  absent,  and 
that  therefore  his  command  would  be  easily  routed. 

General  Duke  feelingly  insists,  and  he  knew  Morgan  thoroughly  well,  that  he  was 
incapable  of  wrongs  and  robberies  ascribed  to  his  supposed  vices  by  the  people  of 
East  Tennessee.  But  General  Duke  tells,  as  the  school-master  stated,  that  Morgan 
was  about  to  be  "  court-martialed  "  for  alleged  lawless  exactions  imposed  upon  people 
and  banks. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Bessie  Starnes. — Spratling's  Story. — His  Enormous  Strength  saves  his  Life. — Two 
Prisoners. — Two  Dead  Scouts. — Spratling's  Confession. 

Spratling  reached  the  modest  log  house,  in  which  Bessie  Starnes 
budded  into  young  womanhood,  late  in  the  afternoon.  His  habits  as 
a  scout  made  him  cautious  and  watchful.  He  refused  to  sleep  in  the 
house,  not  because  he  feared  betrayal  by  its  inmates,  but  capture  and 
death  at  the  hands  of  implacable,  cunning  bushwhackers.  These 
"loyalists"  ascribed  to  Spratling's  extraordinary  physical  strength  the 
peculiar  mode  of  execution  to  which  the  captors  of  the  bushwhacker, 
whose  neck  was  broken  by  an  elastic  hickory  tree,  had  resorted.  The 
story  went  abroad  that  Spratling,  when  enraged,  was  capable  of  any 
terrible  act  of  demonism.  He  was  hated  as  he  was  feared,  and  never 
did  one  suffer  more  unjustly  at  the  bar  of  opinion.  There  was  never 
a  soldier  more  fearless,  and  never  one  more  kindly  and  generous  or 
less  capable  of  cruelty  or  injustice.  He  condemned  the  conduct  of  the 
drunken  men  who  broke  the  neck  of  the  dastardly  assassin  by  tying  it 
to  the  bent  tree,  even  more  harshly  than  I  who  reported  the  outrage 
at  head -quarters,  that  the  drunken  malefactors  might  be,  as  they  were, 
severely  punished. 

But  to  Spratling's  miraculous  muscular  strength  was  ascribed  the 
horrible  deed,  and  he  knew  that  assassins  plotted  his  destruction.  At 
night-fall  he  left  Starnes'  house,  going  down  into  the  valley.  Entering 
the  woods,  he  ascended  the  hill  and  slept  on  its  summit.  When  he 
awoke  at  day  dawn,  seeing  two  men  get  out  of  a  light  wagon  drawn 
by  a  single  horse  and  enter  the  house,  he  went  down  to  the  road  in 
front  of  the  house.  They  wore  pistols  in  their  belts,  having  no  other 
visible  weapons.     They  remained  in  the  house  perhaps  half  an  hour. 


■96  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

and  came  out  with  Bessie  Starnes  walking  very  slowly  and  doubtingly 
between  them  towards  the  wagon.  Spratling  could  not  comprehend 
the  propriety  or  necessity  for  Bessie's  departure,  seated  between  two 
blue-coated  Federal  soldiers.  Presenting  his  repeater  he  stood  at 
the  horse's  head,  telling  the  two  men  they  were  •"  Spratling' s 
prisoners.  Obey  me,  and  if  you  are  friends  of  Bessie  Starnes,  you 
shall  go  free;  if  you  mean  any  harm  to  her,  I'll  cut  your  throats" 

The  aspect  of  Spratling  when  excited  and  when  he  drew  himself  up 
to  his  full  height  and  spoke  with  curt  fierceness  was  even  awe-inspiring. 

"Come,  Bessie,  tell  me  what  all  this  means.  Drop  your  weapons 
instantly,"  he  continued,  addressing  the  two  soldiers  in  a  voice  of 
thunder.  "Bring  me  those  pistols,  Bessie.  Your  friends  are  in  no 
danger:  but  I  am  while  they  are  armed.  I  don't  understand  this 
proceeding,  and  because  I  love  you  and  I  see  your  mother  wringing 
her  hands  and  crying  in  the  house,  I  don't  intend  to  let  you  go  away 
till  I  know  why  you  go." 

The  two  men  had  dropped  their  pistols  and  Bessie  stood  motionless, 
staring  vacantly  in  Spratling's  face.  There  was  no  time  for  any 
discussion  of  the  facts.  With  a  cocked  repeater  in  each  hand  Sprat- 
ling advanced  toward  her.  Ordering  the  men  to  stand  aside,  he 
secured  the  weapons,  made  the  men  mount  into  the  wagon  while  he 
held  the  horse,  and  conferred  with  Bessie.  Spratling  reciting  the 
facts  afterward,  said : 

"I  had  heard  Bessie  speak  of  several  Federal  officers  from  Chattanooga 
who  had  visited  her.  She  had  often  adverted  to  a  quarter-master 
whose  marked  and  persistent  demonstrations  of  love  and  admiration 
annoyed  and  even  offended  her.  He  made  Bessie  costly  presents, 
and  she  loved  finery  only  too  well  and  could  not  repel  the  generous 
-'major'  as  decisively  as  she  should  have  done.  The  'major'  had 
learned  at  last  that  Charley  Hughes,  a  lieutenant  in  Colonel  Cliff's 
Union  regiment,  was  desperately  enamored  of  Bessie  and  that  she 
lavished  upon  Charley  all  the  wealth  of  her  boundless  love.  Once 
when  this  quarter-master  was  at  Starnes'  house,  while  Bessie  was  in 
the  kitchen,  the  quarter-master  discovered  in  Bessie's  table  drawer  a 
package  of  well-worn  letters.  He  hastily  read  one  of  these  ardently 
affectionate  epistles  and  thinking  that  its  possession  might  in  some 
way  invest  him  with  power  over  the  beautiful  'girl,  he  appropriated  it. 
Soon  afterward  he  conceived  the  plot  now  sought  to  be  executed. 
He  forged  a  skillfully  drawn  letter  from  Charley  Hughes.  This  was 
the  paper  which  Bessie  held  tightly  in  her  grasp  when  I  made  the  two 
soldiers  drop,  their  pistols  and  get  into  the  wagon. 

"  'Bessie,'  I  said,  'you  must  tell  me  what  this  means.  Why  do  you 
propose  to  leave  with  those  two  villainous-looking  fellows?  You  know 
I  am  your  friend  and  even  more  than  friend.  This  is  not  right  or  safe, 
and  unless  you  make  me  understand  that  it  is,  I  will  take  that  wagon 
and  those  two  soldiers  to  our  rendezvous  at  once  and  have  these  men 
sent  in  as  prisoners  of  war.' 

"Bessie  still  hesitating  and  frightened,  at  length  came  to  my  side 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  97 

and  placed  the  crushed   letter  in   my  hand.     I  opened  it  and  read 
as  follows : 

"  'Hospital  No.  6,  Chattanooga,  February  2,  1864. 
"  'My  Dearest  Bessie  :— I  was  severely  wounded  in  a  skirmish  on  the  picket  line 
last  Monday.  I  thought  I  would  be  well  enough  to  reach  your  home  and  be  per- 
fectly blest  as  the  object  of  your  tender  care.  But  the  inflammation  of  the  wound 
makes  it  threaten  my  life,  and  the  surgeon  says  I  cannot  go  to  you.  Will  you  not 
come  to  me  before  I  die  ?  You  can  return  to  your  home  in  the  evening.  The  kind 
doctor  lends  me  his  horse  and  ambulance,  and  you  can  trust  the  two  men  I  send  to 
guard  you.     Ever  your  own, 

"  '  Charley.' 

"'Bessie,'  I  said,  after  slowly  reading  Charley's  note,  'Charley 
didn't  write  that  letter.  It  wasn't  written  by  a  dying  man.  It  don't 
sound  right  or  honest.  It  is  too  long  and  stiff  and  particular,  and 
those  fellows  in  that  wagon  there  must  tell  me  who  wrote  that  letter  or 

I  will  string  them  to  the  limb  of  that  oak.     There  is  some  d d 

scoundrel  at  the  bottom  of  this  rascally  business.     Bessie,'  I  said, 
'read  it  over  again.     Are  you  sure  Charley  wrote  it?' 

"She  looked  at  me  vacantly  and  then  at  the  letter  most  intently. 
Hesitating,  and  evidently  doubting  the  genuineness  of  the  paper,  she 
said : 

"'Oh!  yes;  Charley  wrote  it.  Nobody  could  be  wicked  enough 
to  write  me  such  a  story  if  it  were  false.' 

"  '  It  is  false,  and  those  men  in  that  wagon  are  hired  to  place  you  in 
the  power  of  some  villain  in  Chattanooga.' 

"The  pair  of  knaves  grew  pale  when  I  gazed  in  their  faces.  The 
devil  was  in  me  and  I  wonder  I  had  not  killed  them  at  the  instant. 

"Just  then  three  bushwhackers  who  left  Chattanooga  as  scouts,  and 
had  followed  closely  after  the  wagon  containing  the  two  soldiers, 
came  riding  rapidly  toward  me.  My  repeaters  were  in  my  belt  and 
I  held  a  Henry  rifle  in  my  hand.  The  scouts  were  within  fifty 
yards  or  less  when  I  turned  and  ordered  them  to  halt.  They  obeyed, 
and  then  seeing  at  length  that  I  stood  alone  with  Bessie,  and  that  two 
Federal  soldiers,  armed,  as  they  supposed,  were  in  the  wagon,  they 
began  to  advance.  The  horse  attached  to  the  ambulance  had  been 
turned  and  Avas  ready  to  move  toward  Chattanooga. 

"Then  it  was,  gentlemen,"  continued  Spratling,  "that  my  great 
strength  saved  my  life  and  prevented  the  seizure  and  ruin  of  Bessie 
Starnes  by  those  dreadful  villains. 

"When  the  three  bushwhackers  suddenly  raised  their  carbines  to 
their  faces  I  shoved  Bessie  violently  out  of  harm's  way.  She  fell 
almost  senseless  in  the  corner  of  the  fence.  I  leaped  to  the  rear  of 
the  wagon  and  the  two  knaves  in  it  struck  the  horse,  a  gaunt,  bony 
animal  he  was,  thinking  to  expose  me  to  the  aim  of  the  scouts.  But 
my  blood  was  up.  Bessie  was  in  danger  and  I  was  savage.  I  seized 
the  rear  axle  of  the  wagon  with  my  left  hand  and  held  the  wagon  as 
still  as  if  it  had  been  anchored  there  from  all  eternity.  The  two 
soldiers   in  it  struck  and   cursed   the   struggling   horse,  and  when   he 


98  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

jerked  and  reared,  standing  on  his  hindmost  legs,  and  fell  back 
helpless,  they  turned  and  saw  my  arm  holding  them  fast.  They 
looked  pitifully  and  helplessly  into  my  face.  They  were  paralyzed  by 
overwhelming  amazement  that  begets  nameless  terror.  The  Federal 
scouts,  expecting  the  struggling  horse  to  move  the  wagon  out  of  the 
way  that  they  might  shoot  me  down,  stared  in  mute  amazement  at  the 
helpless  animal.  As  soon  as  he  was  still  for  an  instant,  I  fired,  and 
one  of  the  scouts  fell  from  his  saddle.  The  other  two  turned  to  fly.  I 
shot  a  second,  and  the  third  alone  escaped.     Neither  of  them  fired  a  shot. 

"  Bessie  still  lay  frightened  and  stunned  by  the  roadside.  I  was  not 
absolutely  sure  that  the  men  in  the  wagon  had  no  weapons  and  feared, 
if  I  turned  away  to  raise  her  up,  they  might  fire  on  me  and  drive  back 
to  Chattanooga.  Dropping  my  rifle  and  seizing  the  rear  axle  of  the 
wagon  with  both  hands,  I  raised  it  suddenly — the  horse's  head  was 
turned  down  the  hill  toward  Chattanooga— and  overturned  it,  with 
the  men  in  it,  upon  the  horse's  back.  The  men,  stunned  and  bruised, 
rolled  down  the  declivity;  the  frightened  horse,  with  the  wagon  body 
on  his  back,  fled  in  terror.  His  speed  down  that  hill  was  never 
eclipsed.  The  wagon  body  soon  fell  off  and  the  wheels  took  their 
places  in  the  road  and  the  frightened  horse  was  found  dead  nearly  a 
mile  from  the  spot. 

•'The  two  knaves  were  almost  killed  by  their  sudden  elevation  and 
fall.  I  made  them  come  to  me  and,  while  Mrs.  Starnes  attended  to 
Bessie,  I  tied  their  hands  together  behind  their  backs.  They  were 
perfectly  helpless  because  perfectly  unmanned  by  amazement  and 
terror.  I  never  saw  faces  full  of  such  helpless  agony  as  the  two  knaves 
wore  when  they  found  I  was  stronger  than  the  horse  that  struggled  in 
vain  to  move  the  wagon.  It  was  this  that  struck  the  approaching 
bushwhackers  dumb  with  astonishment  and  made  them  stop  a  moment 
to  stare  at  the  struggling  animal.  They  could  not  believe  their  eyes 
when  they  saw  the  venerable  brute  straining  every  sinew  of  body  and 
legs  and  plunging  forward  madly  and  yet  fixed  to  the  spot  where  I 
held  him.  The  horse  trembled  either  from  terror,  or  it  may  have 
been  from  tremendous  exertion  of  strength.  But  he  shuddered 
visibly.  I  felt  the  wagon  tremble  after  each  vain  effort  made  by  the 
horse  to  move  it." 

"What  wonderful  stories  the  fellow  that  escaped  told  of  your  deeds 
in  Chattanooga,"  said  the  schoolmaster  to  Spratling,  "and  if  ever 
those  two  knaves  and  pimps  for  the  villainous  quarter-master  escape  or 
return  to  their  command  won't  they  noise  abroad  the  fame  and  deeds 
of  Spratling  ! 

"I  am  almost  tempted,  Captain,  to  ask  you  to  turn  them  loose.  I 
would,  were  it  not  that  they  are  such  infamous  knaves.  The}"  were 
hired  by  that  remorseless  villain,  the  quarter-master,  to  bring  that 
forged  letter  to  Bessie,  and  take  her  to  some  den  of  iniquity  in 
Chattanooga.  When  tied  and  questioned  separately  they  finally 
confessed  the  whole  truth." 

"There's  something  else  I  want  to  tell,"  said  Spratling.     "I  am 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  99 

not  sure  that  Bessie  would  have  me  tell  it,  but  there  is  no  harm  in  it, 
and  as  I  will  never  see  Bessie  again  she  should  not  care.  Then  the 
newspaper  man  and  the  schoolmaster  will  never  meet  her  or  tell 
anybody  who  will  repeat  it  in  Bessie's  neighborhood,  and  I  might  as 
well  finish  my  story. 

"You  know,  Captain,  I  loved  Bessie.  I  do  think  she  is  too  good 
and  too  beautiful  for  this  world.  When  she  came  to  her  senses,  after 
that  bloody  work  this  morning  and  looked  up  so  gratefully  in  my  face 
and  when  I  was  watching  the  color  come  and  go  in  her  pale,  sweet 
face,  and  the  lights  and  shadows  that  fled  from  one  another  across  the 
great  depths  of  her  beautiful  eyes — when  she  said  to  me  in  low,  soft, 
musical  tones  : 

"  '  Do  you  know  now  that  I  owe  you  more  than  my  life,  and  that  I 
am  ready  to  give  even  that  to  you.'  She  put  her  little  brown  hand 
in  mine,  and  looked  up  in  my  face  with  such  a  dreamy  look  of 
grateful  love,  that  I — I  couldn't  help  it,  Captain— I  kissed  the  pretty 
girl  and  pressed  her  passionately  to  my  heart. 

"But  I  began  to  think,  and  knew  I  was  doing  wrong.  I  began  to 
recall  the  incidents  of  the  morning.  I  remembered  that  Bessie  was 
impelled  by  irresistible  affection  to  risk  her  life  and  fame  that  she 
might  watch  at  the  bedside  of  the  man  she  really  loved.  '  Spratling,' 
I  said  to  myself,  'you  have  no  right  to  take  advantage  of  this  pretty 
girl's  gratitude.  She  loves  another  and  if  you  really  love  Bessie  you 
must  not  make  her  wretched  by  inducing  her  to  become  your  own 
because  she  thinks  she  owes  you  a  debt  that  cannot  otherwise  be 
paid.' 

"I  stood  up,  Captain,  and  told  Bessie  I  was  an  honest  man,  and 
that  I  loved  her  with  all  my  heart,  but  that  I  had  forced  her  that 
morning  to  tell  me  why  she  proposed  to  go  to  Chattanooga.  '  I  can 
not,  Bessie,  save  your  life  in  order  to  make  it  wretched.  I  love  you 
madly  enough,  God  knows,  but  you  love  Charley,  and  you  shall  wed 
Charley. ' 

"I  bade  her  good  bye,  Captain,  and  she  wept  with  a  pitiful  sort  of 
smile,  significant,  I  thought,  of  her  gratitude,  playing  about  her  pale, 
sweet  face — gratitude  because  I  had  now  given  her  to  perfect  blessed- 
ness and  to  Charley  Hughes. 

"  Holding  both  her  hands  and  gazing  long  and  rapturously  into  those 
wonderful  eyes,  I  kissed  her  again  and  ran  away." 

I,  who  rewrite  the  story  of  the  adventures  of  these  scouts,  am 
impelled  to  say  that  Spratling  and  Bessie  and  Mamie  and  Bessie's 
Federal  lieutenant  and  the  captain  all  met,  and  not  very  many  weeks 
after  the  occurrences,  just  recited.  How  these  men  and  women  were 
brought  together,  and  what  strange  consequences  sprang  from  personal 
interviews,  subsequent  pages  will  tell. 


CHAPTER  XV, 


Around  the  Camp  Fire. — The  Newspaper  Man  Again. — "  Put  me  down  among  the 
Dead." — The  Newspaper  Man  as  a  Resurrectionist. — Bottled  up. — Every  Man 
his  own  Ghost. 

With  flowers  we  deck  our  soldiers'  graves, 
With  drooping  folds  our  standard  waves 
Where  flowers  and  lawn  the  dew-drop  laves 
And  breath  of  spring  is  softly  blown 
O'er  mounds  where,  on  a  simple  stone, 
The  record  says  they  were — "  Unknown." 

Emily  'Hawthorne. 

Spratling's  almost  incredible  account  of  his  sojourn  at  Starnes' 
farmhouse  begat  profound  silence  about  the  camp  fire.  We  sat  gazing 
moodily  into  the  burning,  glowing  heap  of  wood  and  ashes,  watching 
intently  the  weird  shapes  assumed,  and  brilliant,  quivering  forms  that 
danced,  and  castles,  towers,  domes,  and  minarets  that  rose  and 
gleamed  and  fell  among  the  living  coals.  The  captain  rose  at  length 
and  went  away  saying  : 

"  If  everything  is  quiet  we  should  sleep.  We  must  march  to- 
morrow. ' ' 

The  newspaper  man  said  he  had  been  writing,  before  Spratling 
returned,  an  account  of  the  woes  of  a  poor  soldier  whom  he  had 
encountered  twice  since  the  war  began. 

"There  is  such  an  admixture  of  mirth  and  sadness,"  said  the 
editor,  "begotten  of  the  simple  facts  that  I  cannot  tell,  when  recalling 
the  incidents,  whether  I  should  laugh  or  weep.  I  was  pursuing  my 
life-long  vocation,"  he  continued,  "when  I  stood  upon  the  heights  at 
Columbus,  Kentucky,  and  witnessed  the  descent  of  U.  S.  Grant's 
brigade — Iowa  and  Illinois  troops,  I  think  they  were — upon  Colonel 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  101 

Tappan's  Arkansas  regiment  and  a  squadron  of  cavalry  encamped  on 
the  low,  flat  shore  of  the  Mississippi.  Confederate  official  reports  of 
that  battle  did  not  confess  the  fact ;  but  my  impression  was  that 
Grant  played  his  cards  for  all  they  were  worth,  and  by  this  first  little 
game  of  "poker"  with  bayonets,  Bishop  General  Polk,  being  his 
vis-a-vis,  demonstrated  his  capacity  to  "hold  his  hand"  and  play  it 
skillfully  even  when  R.  E.  Lee  sits  facing  him,  as  he  does  to-night  in 
front  of  Richmond.  After  the  fight,  I  went  to  the  adjutant  or  colonel 
of  each  Confederate  regiment  engaged,  to  ascertain  the  names  of  the 
killed  and  wounded.  It  was  late  at  night  when  I  reached  Colonel 
Jem  Cole's  quarters.  He  led,  in  this  action,  raw  Tennessee  troops, 
and  several  were  killed  or  wounded.  I  was  sitting  beside  him  at  the 
entrance  to  the  tent,  and  had  made  full  memoranda  for  the  night's 
telegrams,  when  an  old  man,  hat  in  hand,  and  holding  a  lantern  close 
to  my  face,  said: 

"I  wish,  Capting,  you  would  put  me  down  among  the  dead." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  signify,"  answered  Gibbons,  Cole's  orderly,  "but 
you  see,  I'm  gwine  onto  fifty  yeahs  or  mo'  and  I  was  fool  enough  to 
marry  a  nice  young  gal.  She  ain't  more'n  twenty-eight;  she's  down 
to  Vicksburg  whar  I  live.  Well,  she  kinder  got  tired  ov  me  somehow 
and  scolded  a  heap,  and  made  it  hot  for  the  old  feller,  sometimes, 
and  I  didn't  like  her  carryings-on  with  the  boys  like,  and  when  the 
drums  beat  and  fifes  shrieked  in  the  streets,  day  and  night,  you  see, 
Capting,  I  thought  mebbe  Mary  Ann  would  be  sorry  and  kinder  come 
round  a  little  if  an  old  feller  like  me  dressed  up  like  a  soger  in  fine 
toggery  and  went  to  the  wars  and  she  knowed  what  made  me  go.  She 
knowed  home  wasn't  comfortable.  She  was  sorter  sorry,  I  reckon, 
when  I  marched  away  to  the  steamboat  to  come  here;  but  she  didn't 
say  much  and  she  don't  write  to  me,  and  I  think  ef  you'll  help  me, 
Capting,  I  can  bring  her.  Ef  you'll  print  in  the  papers  that  I'm 
dead,  she'll  know  she  killed  me.  She  knows  I'm  here  because  she 
wasn't  good  to  me.     Will  you  kill  me  in  the  papers,  Capting?" 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  objection,"  I  said.  "You  are  in  earnest," 
I  asked,  "and  you  want  me  to  say  that  you  were  shot  between  the 
eyes  fighting  gallantly  beside  Colonel  Cole,  and  that  you  fell  dead  in 
the  front  rank  of  your  brave  regiment?" 

"  That's  the  very  way  to  put  it,"  answered  Gibbons. 

I  met  Bassett,  soon  afterward,  the  clever  and  kindly  correspondent 
of  the  Appeal.  We  interchanged  memoranda,  and  Bassett,  as  well  as 
I,  telegraphed  the  story  of  Gibbons'  heroic  death.  This  happened 
on  the  night  of  the  7th  of  November,  1861,  when  telegraphic  wires 
north  and  south  were  made  tremulous  by  the  exciting  story  of  the 
first  battle  fought  in  the  war  between  the  States,  in  the  valley  of  the 
Mississippi. 

More  than  two  years  had  elapsed,  when,  not  many  days  ago,  I 
sought  the  quarters  of  General  Preston  Smith,  that  I  might  encounter 
friends  left  at  Columbus,  Kentucky,  late  in  November,  1861.     I  was 


102  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

riding  along  placidly  enough,  and  within  our  lines,  occasionally 
accosted  by  a  sentinel,  to  whom  I  exhibited  a  passport  from  the  Pro- 
vost Marshal,  General .     At  length  an  aged  man,  stepping  out 

from  behind  a  tree  and  looking  intently  in  my  face,  exclaimed, 
nervously  and  quickly : 

"Halt  there!" 

I  drew  the  rein  and  at  the  same  instant  extended  my  right  hand 
with  the  passport.  The  gray-haired  sentinel  only  stared  at  me  and  at 
length  said,  as  if  soliloquizing : 

"D d  ef  it  ain't  him!" 

"Ain't  who?"  I  asked. 

"You  are  the  feller  what  killed  me  at  the  battle  of  Belmont,  ain't 
you?" 

Seeing  that  the  old  fellow  was  still  living  and  yet  talked  of  himself 
as  dead,  I  knew  he  was  a  lunatic,  and  saw  that  he  was  well  armed.  I 
had  no  weapon  of  any  description,  and  confess  I  felt  anxious.  He 
still  held  his  musket  at  a  " present  arms."  Constantly,  through  two 
years,  in  the  midst  of  ever-recurring  excitements,  of  course  I  had 
utterly  forgotten  that  I  had  ever  advertised  any  one  as  dead  at 
Belmont,  and  there  was  nothing  in  this  rude,  bent,  gray  old  soldier  to 
recall  the  neatly  clad,  erect  Mr.  Gibbons,  who  was  acting  as  Colonel 
Cole's  orderly  in  November,  1861,  at  Columbus,  Kentucky. 

He  still  stared  at  me.     I  said  to  him,  soothingly : 

"Are  you  not  mistaken?  I  don't  think  I  killed  anybody  in  the 
battle  of  Belmont.  I  only  crossed  the  river  in  the  afternoon  and  saw 
the  fighting  at  the  boats,  when  Grant's  troops  were  going  away." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  talking  about  that,"  said  Gibbons.  "You  killed  me 
by  telegraph.     Don't  you  remember  it?" 

I  now  knew  that  I  was  arrested  by  a  maniac.  The  bare  suggestion 
of  death  by  telegraph  instead  of  by  railway  implied  hopeless,  irreme- 
diable insanity. 

I  was  at  my  wit's  end  and  could  only  suggest  that  I  had  "almost 
forgotten  it." 

"D n  it,"  exclaimed  the  old  fellow,  bringing  his  musket  down 

till  its  muzzle  almost  touched  my  face,  "I'm  Gibbons,  Colonel  Cole's 
orderly,  and  you  sent  my  death  to  the  AvalaiKhe,  and  the  Whig,  at 
Vicksburg,  copied  it,  and  every  other  newspaper  in  the  wurruld,  I 
think.  I  thought  my  wife  would  sorter  cum  round  and  be  sorry  like, 
and  that  she'd  be  glad  when  I  resurrected,  and  sorter  went  home  outer 
the  graveyard  like.     But  you  played  h 1,  you  did." 

The  fun  involved  in  the  queer  facts  now  began  to  dawn  upon  me. 
I  remembered  Gibbons  and  his  supposititious  heroic  death,  and  how 
poor  Bassett  and  I  slew  him  with  our  little  pencils. 

"Mr.  Gibbons,"  I  remarked,  solemnly,  "you  told  me  to  publish 
the  story." 

"Yes,   that   may  be,    but  you    shan't    laff  about    it.     You    played 

h 1,  I  tell  you!     The  news  went,  and  kept  agoin'  and  everybody 

knowed  I  was  dead,  very  dead.     I  was,  sir,  d d  dead,"  exclaimed 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  103 

the  old  man,  and  he  stamped  the  ground  as  if  his  hated  corpse  was 
beneath  it. 

I  could  not  repress  signs  of  laughter. 

"Look  here,"  exclaimed  the  old  fellow,  "I  won't  have  any  of 
that.  You'll  be  shot  deader  than  I  am,  except  in  the  newspapers,  ef 
you  don't  cork  up." 

He  was  profoundly  in  earnest.  His  eyes  blazed,  and  I  "corked 
up."  I  was,  in  fact,  profoundly  solemn.  The  musket  was  coming  up 
to  my  face. 

"Ell  do  anything  I  can  for  you,  Mr.  Gibbons." 

"Well,  then,  git  down  and  resurrect  me." 

I  was  again  puzzled.  It  occurred  to  me  that  surely  the  man  was  a 
maniac.      How  was  I  to  "resurrect"  him? 

"Git  down,"  he  repeated,  "and  write  it  all  out  and  sign  your  name 

to  it,  and  tell  'em  it  was  all  a  d d  lie,  and  that  I  ain't  dead.     The 

old  'oman  and  the  infernal  lawyers  has  done  administered  to  my 
e-state.  She  sold  my  fo'  niggahs,  and  she  was  about  marryin'  another 
feller  when  I  last  hearn  from  her.  Be  quick  and  straighten  it  all  out. 
When  I  writes,  or  rayther  when  I  gits  some  other  feller  to  write  and  I 
makes  my  mark  to  the  letter  they  sends  back  word,  they  can't  be 
humbugged.  They  knows  I'm  dead  and  that  no  swindling  rascal  can 
git  money  outen  her.  I'm  ben  miserable,  mighty  miserable,  ever 
sense  you  killed  me  in  the  newspapers.  I  lost  home,  wife,  property, 
everything,  and  I  am  gettin'  very  old,  and  now  I'm  buried  alive,  and 
out'n  the  wurruld,  and  still  knows  I  was  in  it." 

Tears  came  into  the  old  man's  eyes,  his  voice  faltered,  he  bowed 
his  head,  and  I  pitied  him  with  all  my  heart.  In  broken  accents,  he 
went  on : 

' '  Last  summer  I  got  a  furlow  to  go  home  for  thirty  days,  and 
took  sick  and  lay  thar  in  a  horspital  at  Jackson  till  I  only  had  one 
day  left.  I  staggered  down,  a  skelly-ton,  to  the  railroad,  and  rode 
on  the  kyars  to  my  farm,  whar  my  wife  lives  sense  she  sold  my  house 
and  lot  in  town,  twelve  miles  outen  Vicksburg.  I  got  thar  about 
dusk,  and  staggered  along  till  I  got  to  the  house.  I  looked  jest  like  a 
dead  man,  for  ail  the  wurruld.  I  staggered  in.  The  front  door  was 
open  and  thar  sot  my  wife.  She  knowed  I  was  dead.  She  was 
aholdin'  a  young  feller's  hand,  and  her  sister  was  in  the  room.  It 
looked  free  and  easy  like,  as  if  they  .was  used  to  it.  I  stood  and 
looked  and  listened  a  minnit  and  hearn  the  gal  say,  'Oh,  he's  ben 
dead  more'n  a  year  and  a  half,'  when  I  got  mad.  I  knowed  they  was 
atalkin'  about  me,  and  I  stepped  into  the  room,  and  stood  thar 
silent,  holdin'  up  my  bony  hands. 

"Never,  in  all  my  born  days,  did  I  hear  setch  screams  as  them  two 
wimmin  give.  Both  keeled  over,  dead ;  deader'n  ever  I  was.  That 
ar  nice  young  man  knowed  it  was  me.  He  used  to  know  me  in 
Vicksburg  before  I  died.  His  eyes  stood  an  inch  or  two  outen  his 
nice  little  head,  and  har  riz  up  and  stood  like  hog  bristles,  and 
he  wur  whiter  than   his   liver.      He   stared  at  me  half  a  minnit,  and 


io4  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

then  went  fur  the  winder.  I  think  it's  more'n  probable  he  is  arunnin' 
yet.     He  never  looked  back,  narv  a  time. 

"Them  horspital  folks  at  Jackson  had  telegraphed  the  conscript 
officer  at  my  railroad  dippo  to  catch  me  as  a  deserter.  When  I  started 
to  get  some  whiskey  for  the  wimmin  and  to  be  out  of  sight  when  they 
opened  their  eyes  that  they  mightent  be  skeered  agin.  I  was  ordered 
to  halt.  At  that  very  minnit  here  come  the  train.  The  conscript 
officer  tuk  me  with  him  and  fetched  me  to  Jackson,  and  the  next 
week  I  was  sent  with  six  more  deserters  under  guard  to  my  rigiment. 
Noboddy  seen  me  at  home  but  them  thar  people.  That  feller  what 
was  gwine  to  marry  my  wife — well,  I  know  he's  clean  gone.  He  was, 
perhaps,  the  wust  scart  man  that  has  lit  out  anywhare  sense  this  skeery 
war  begun,  and  cowardly  legs  have  ben  mightily  imposed  upon  and 
stretched  all  over  these  hyar  states.  He  knows  I'm  a  ghost,  and  my 
wife  and  her  sister  jest  swares  all  the  time  that  it  was  my  ghost  which 
they  seed,  and  the  nabers  believed  it,  and  that  I  got  up  outen  my 
grave  at  Columbus,  Kentucky,  and  traveled  to  Vicksburg  jest  to  keep 
the  old  'oman  from  marryin'  that  skeery  chap.  You  see  how  very- 
dead  I  am.  You  must  help  me,  won't  you?  I  don't  want  to  be 
dead,  when  I  know  I  am  living,  and  now  everyboddy  swars  I  am 
buried  and  forgotten  at  Columbus,  Kentucky,  and  that  my  ghost  has 
been  seen  asrin  and  agin.  My  wife  has  the  ager  whenever  she  hyars 
my  name." 

I  dismounted,  and  asked  the  heart-broken  old  man  to  sit  beside  me 
at  the  root  of  the  great  oak,  through  whose  branches  winds  sighed 
sadly,  while  tears  fell  rapidly  from  the  old  man's  eyes. 

I  wrote  of  his  griefs  as  I  read  of  them  now.  I  will  publish  this 
story  and  the  old  soldier  may  yet  make  the  world  confess  that,  like 
Daniel  Webster,  "he  still  lives'."' 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


The  Newspaper  Man  spins  another  Yarn. — A  Porcine  Steed. — Sim  Sneed  in  the 
Role  of  John  Gilpin. — He  disperses  a  Battery.— A  Dead  Dog. — "  The  Divel 
Sure." — Denouement. 

At  noon,  next  day,  we  rested  on  the  banks  of  a  little  mountain 
stream  fifty  yards  from  the  country  roadway  we  had  followed,  leading 
towards  Tunnel  Hill.  Two  men  on  foot  and  one  on  horseback,  as 
tracks  in  the  highway  indicated,  were  not  far  ahead.  Whether 
enemies  or  friends  we  could  not  tell.  Spratling  went  forward  to 
ascertain  their  character.  What  befell  him  and  how  extraordinary 
was  his  action  may  be  imagined  when  one  reflects  that  he  was  now 
imbued  with  indestructible  and  boundless  confidence  in  his  own 
powers  and  in  his  iron  muscles.  And  then  he  was  reckless  because 
he  deemed  his  separation  from  Bessie  final. 

We  were  eating  hard  bread  and  broiled  bacon  and  sipping  strong 
coffee  when  the  newspaper  man  said  he  was  "  in  Chattanooga  about  a 
year  ago,  when  the  daring  Federal  Captain,  Andrews,  almost  succeeded 
in  giving  General  Mitchell  possession  of  the  place.  Generals  Kirby 
Smith  and  Leadbetter  were  in  command,  Leadbetter,  a  supposed 
engineer,  engaged  in  fortifying  the  stronghold." 

"I  don't  think,"  said  the  journalist,  "there  were  more  than  five 
hundred  soldiers  in  the  ragged,  ricketty,  weather-boarded  town. 
These  were  raw,  half-armed,  undisciplined  Georgians  encamped  at  the 
end  of  the  railroad  track  on  the  river  bank  half  a  mile  from  the 
Crutchfield  tavern,  occupied  by  Generals  Smith  and  Leadbetter. 

Here,  in  this  Crutchfield  tavern,  occurred  the  conflict  between 
'Bill'  Crutchfield  and  General  Vaughn  of  which  I  was  telling  some 
time  ago,  and  in  its  immediate  vicinity  happened  the  most  ludicrous 
incident  that  will  be  illustrated  in  all  the  annals  of  this  absurd  and 
ghastly  war.  While  the  word  Chattanooga,  signifying  crow's  nest, — 
the  rounded  hills  in  the  valley  representing,  in  red  men's  eyes,  the 


106  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

eggs  of  the  bird, — is  held  down  in  its  place  on  the  map  of  the  earth's 
surface  by  that  mighty  paper  weight,  Lookout  Mountain,  this  story 
will  be  ever  memorable.  The  news  came  to  the  Confederate  generals, 
by  telegraph  from  Big  Shanty,  that  a  Federal  Captain,  Andrews,  and  a 
dozen  gallant  men,  disguised  as  country  clodhoppers,  had  seized  the 
locomotive  at  that  place  and  were  coming  north.  Three  hundred 
passengers,  and  cars  with  reinforcements  for  Chattanooga,  were  thus 
left  at  Big  Shanty,  while  Captain  Andrews,  coming  north,  was 
destroying  each  bridge  and  culvert  behind  him.  The  Federal  General, 
Mitchell,  was  at  Bridgeport,  west  of  Chattanooga,  intending,  as  soon 
as  he  was  advised  of  the  success  of  Captain  Andrews,  to  attack  and 
capture  the  feebly  garrisoned  stronghold.  He  proposed  to  carry  it 
by  storm  before  bridges  and  culverts  could  be  repaired,  and  before 
men  and  munitions  could  be  sent  up  from  Atlanta. 

"Andrews  failing  to  cut  the  telegraph  wire  when  he  first  left  Big 
Shanty,  full  dispatches,  telling  what  he  had  done,  came  to  us  in 
Chattanooga.  A  train  of  platform,  open  cars  was  at  once  freighted 
with  two  hundred  raw  militiamen  and  sent  down  the  road  to  capture 
Andrews. 

"I  had  slept  through  the  night  on  a  blanket,  with  Rolfe  S.  Saun- 
ders, beside  the  railway  at  the  southern  end  of  the  Crutchfield  house, 
afterwards  burned.  In  an  alley  running  at  right  angles  to  the  railway 
and  behind  the  tavern,  slept  a  sick'  soldier  named  Sim  Sneed.  He 
was  very  small,  short  of  stature,  round  of  person,  and  bald-headed. 
Just  before  the  train  started  out  to  intercept  Captain  Andrews,  coming 
up  from  Big  Shanty  toward  Chattanooga,  Sim  was  suffering  greatly. 
I  gave  him  a  large  share  of  the  exhilarating  contents  of  Saunders' 
canteen  and  discovered  that  Sim,  besides  being  very  sick,  was  exceed- 
ingly drunk.  The  train  was  now  coming  down  toward  the  hotel. 
Two  hundred  men  on  it  rattling  guns  and  shouting,  and  the  roaring 
of  cars  and  locomotive,  begat  a  mighty  noise.  A  huge  sow,  weighing 
quite  four  hundred  pounds,  was  roused  from  her  matutinal  slumbers  in 
a  mud-hole  by  this  dreadful  uproar.  She  was  greatly  frightened,  and 
came  snorting  and  leaping  along  the  railroad  track,  ahead  of  the 
locomotive,  to  our  resting  place.  Fearing  that  the  immense  brute 
would  run  over  and  cover  us  with  greasy  slime,,  in  which  she  had  been 
bathing,  Saunders  and  I  stood  erect.  Sim  Sneed,  at  the  instant,  with 
clothes  wholly  unloosened  about  him,  because  of  the  pain  he  suffered, 
hearing  the  noise  made  by  the  huge  hog,  rose  up  on  his  knees  and 
elbows.  He  was  facing  the  flying  hog.  The  animal,  frightened  by 
Saunders  and  myself,  turned  suddenly  and  rapidly  into  the  alley-way. 
Her  nose  passed  under  Sim's  body,  and  between  it  and  his  pantaloons 
that  dropped  under  the  hog's  throat.  He  clasped  his  arms  about  her, 
and  thus,  lying  on  his  face,  pinioned  to  the  huge  brute's  back,  he 
went  careering  backwards  down  the  alley. 

"The  thoroughly  affrighted  beast,  with  her  involuntary  rider, 
snorted  like  a  hippopotamus.  Sim's  shirt  floated  as  a  flag  of  truce 
above  his  back,  as  he   hurried,  wrong   end  foremost,  down   the   hill. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  107 

At   the   foot   of  this  declivity,  Captain  Claib  Kane's  gallant  battery 
was  encamped. 

"The  railway  train  now  stood  still,  and  three  hundred  men,  amazed 
and  silent  at  first,  contemplated  the  stupendous  flight  of  that  dum- 
founded  hog.  At  last  the  supreme  ridiculousness  of  Sim  Sneed's 
attitude  struck  the  soldiers.  Many  had  seen  him  caught  up  on  the 
animal's  snout  and  fastened  on  her  back,  and  shouts  and  laughter 
rent  the  air. 

"Chattanooga  was  as  full  of  dogs  and  fleas  as  Constantinople. 
These  dogs  all  barked  and  howled,  a  fact  I  would  not  have  observed 
at  the  moment,  but  many  of  these  curious  curs  came  rushing  toward 
the  tavern  to  see  what  had  happened.  Saunders,  from  a  platform  car 
which  we  had  mounted,  directed  my  attention  to  a  big,  black  cur, 
with  a  very  short  tail,  rushing  madly  along  a  garden  fence  at  right 
angles  to  the  course  pursued  by  Sneed  and  the  Flying  Childers  he 
bestrode.  Just  as  the  dog  turned  the  corner,  the  hog  reached  it. 
That  dog  had  never  seen  any  living  thing  whose  physiognomy  bore 
the  remotest  resemblance  to  features  made  up  of  a  sow's  grim  head 
thrust  between  a  man's  pantaloons  and  body,  and  this  body  constitut- 
ing a  full,  white,  round  forehead  for  the  unaccountable  beast.  When 
the  dog  rushed  round  the  corner,  to  face  the  hog,  his  hair  was  all 
turned  the  wrong  way  ;  his  short,  stiff  tail  worn  off  by  having  good 
Sunday-school  boys  of  Chattanooga  tie  tin  buckets  to  it,  was  turned 
up  stiff  and  straight,  at  right  angles  to  his  rigid  backbone.  The  dog 
was  terribly  excited  when  he  suddenly  faced  the  sow  and  Sneed 
inverted.  He  stopped  dead  still ;  his  hair  and  tail  instantly  fell ;  he 
shook ;  his  spine  gave  way  ;  his  head  sank ;  he  dropped  upon  the 
sod,  and  turning  gently  upon  his  side,  his  legs  quivered,  and  there 
was  a  dead  dog. 

"Captain  Kane's  battery  of  eight  guns,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
horses,  and  as  many  men,  was  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  The  great, 
grim  grunter,  now  ridden  by  Sneed,  was  well  known  there.  She 
foraged  among  Captain  Kane's  horses  ;  but  as  she  came  down  the 
hill,  bearing  Sim  upon  her  back,  she  was  wholly  unrecognized  by 
Irishmen  and  horses. 

"  -An',  what  is  it,  Pathrick?' 

"  'An',  faith,  an'  will  ye  be  afther  tellin'  me,  Jemmy?' 
"  'An',  bejazes,  I  niver  seen  the  loikes  of  it  before.' 
"  'Oh,  it's  the  divel  sure,  with  his  face  white-washed.' 
"Meanwhile,  the  echo  of  voices  of  shouting  crowds  reached  these 
artillerymen.     They  stood  upon  guns  and  caissons  when  the  old  sow 
rushed  down  the  declivity.     Horses  broke  away  from  their  fastenings 
and  fled  in  all  directions,  and  the  sow  was  crossing  the  encampment 
before  the  artillerymen  saw  how  Sim  Sneed  became  a  sort  of  inverted 
centaur. 

"They  had  hardly  recovered  from  their  alarm  and  ceased  making 
signs  of  the  cross  and  invoking  the  Holy  Virgin,  when  the  sow  passed 
out  of  sight  under  the  negro  shanty  where  her  dozen  pigs  reposed  in 


10S  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

dusty  blissfulness.  As  she  went  under,  Sim's  fat  person  struck  the 
sleeper  of  the  house.  The  sow  never  halted.  Sim's  breeches  were 
rent  in  twain,  one-half  remaining  on  either  leg.  He  lay  some  time 
senseless  in  the  dust.  A  comrade  ran  to  him  with  a  blanket,  and  Sim 
soon  afterward  was  furloughed  by  Leadbetter  as  an  insane  John 
Gilpin." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


Spratling  makes  a  Descent  upon  the  Bushwhackers. — An  Extraordinay  Meeting. — 
Spratling  suddenly  loses  his  Appetite. — At  Headquarters. — Camp  Life. — Woman 
in  War  and  Politics. — Why  this  Book  was  written. — Camp  Fire  Morals. — An 
Illustration. — A  Ludicrous  and  Pitiful  Story. — An  Old  Woman  Eloquent. — "The 
Foremostest  Sin  that  God  Almighty  will  go  about  Forgiving." 

While  the  journalist  was  talking,  as  recited  in  preceding  pages, 
Spratling  followed  rapidly  in  the  footsteps  of  the  three  persons  just 
ahead  of  us.  He  came  upon  them  within  a  mile  of  our  resting  place. 
They  had  kindled  a  fire  some  distance  from  the  highway  and  prepared 
their  noon-day  meal.  Spratling  concealed  himself  on  the  summit  of 
the  hill,  watched  their  actions,  and  soon  ascertained  that  one  was  a 
young  soldier  and  officer  and  the  others  bushwhackers.  He  said 
afterwards  that  he  was  satisfied,  while  watching  the  movements  of  these 
three  men,  that  one  was  the  very  bushwhacker  who  escaped  when  his 
two  comrades  fell  at  Starnes'  home.  This  conviction  excited  a  keen 
desire,  Spratling  said,  to  "capture  the  rascal."  He  had  sought  to 
slay  Spratling,  and  if  the  latter  had  not  held  the  wagon,  thus  guarding 
his  own  person  despite  the  horse's  exertions  to  move  the  vehicle, 
he  would  have  been  shot  to  death  by  his  three  assailants. 

•'Therefore,"  said  Spratling,  "I  could  not  help  watching  and 
waiting  to  day  for  an  opportunity  to  resent  the  thwarted  purposes  of 
this  bushwhacker  who  had  escaped  from  me  at  Starnes'." 

When  the  soldier  and  bushwhackers  had  appeased  hunger,  they 
sought  each  a  spot  on  which  to  rest.  The  soldier  came  to  a  great  tree 
hardly  fifty  paces  from  Spratling's  place  of  concealment.  The  two 
bushwhackers  stretched  themselves  on  blankets  side  by  side.  Within 
ten  minutes,  all  were  so  still  that  Spratling  believed  they  slept.  He 
crept,  stealthily  and  noiselessly,  to  the  tree.  One  of  its  roots  was  the 
soldier's  pillow.  Spratling,  of  whose  strength,  as  we  learned  after- 
wards,  the  sleeping  soldier  had  heard  marvelous  accounts,  leaped, 


no  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

when  within  a  yard  or  two  of  his  victim,  upon  the  unconscious  youth 
and  seizing  his  throat  said  in  a  whisper : 

"Be  silent.     You  are  my  prisoner  and  are  safe." 

The  soldier  said  afterward  there  was  no  need  for  these  injunctions 
of  silence,  that  Spratling's  grasp  about  his  throat  almost  crushed  every 
bone  in  it. 

In  an  instant  Spratling  raised  the  young  soldier  and  held  him, 
disarmed  and  helpless  as  he  was,  as  a  shield  with  one  hand,  while, 
presenting  his  repeater  in  the  other,  he  ordered  the  two  bushwhackers 
to  rise  and  hold  up  their  hands. 

The  man  who  had  sought  to  kill  Spratling  at  Starnes'  looked  up, 
grew  pale,  and  shuddering,  said,  in  husky  tones : 

"It's  him!     It's  Spratling!" 

The  name  was  magical  in  its  potency.  The  two  men  rose  with  hands 
uplifted,  their  guns  and  pistols  lying  on  their  blankets.  If  they  had 
been  fearless  as  Spratling  and  resisted,  one  or  both  would  have  fallen 
instantly  and  in  no  event  could  Spratling  have  been  killed  except  by 
a  bullet  that  was  first  fatal  to  the  young  officer.  The  bushwhackers 
comprehended  the  exigencies  of  the  moment  and,  in  obedience  to 
Spratling's  orders,  moved  toward  the  road,  fifty  yards  distant.  The 
young  officer  having  been  disarmed,  was  ordered  to  join  his  two 
associates,  and  Spratling,  with  a  cocked  repeater  in  each  hand  and 
his  Henry  rifle  strapped  on  his  back,  followed  his  prisoners  to  the 
creek  where  he  had  left  us. 

We  were  not  a  little  amazed  when  he  laughingly  ordered  us  to 
"open  ranks"  and  receive  his  prisoners.  The  trio  came  to  us 
pitifully  crestfallen.  They  confessed  in  their  faces  a  sense  of  shame 
that  they  had  succumbed  to  the  tact,  courage,  and  notorious 
strength  of  one  man.  Meanwhile  we  could  hardly  conceal  from  Sprat- 
ling and  his  prisoners  our  amazement.  We  supposed  he  would  bring 
accurate  information,  and  that  we  might  assail  these  supposed  scouts, 
but  never  dreamed  that  he  would  undertake  the  task  he  had  effected. 
Spratling's  good  nature,  when  he  discovered  the  chagrin  of  the  young 
Federal  lieutenant,  made  him  say  that  "he  knew  that  his  own  success 
depended  upon  the  deprivation  of  the  young  officer  of  every  means  of 
resistance  and  of  escape.  I,  therefore,  first  disposed  of  him.  When 
he  was  helpless,  of  course  the  others  surrendered." 

The  bushwhackers  captured  recognized  the  pedagogue  as  a  former 
comrade,  the  latter  stating  that  he  was  a  paroled  prisoner.  The 
youthful  officer,  seeing  that  the  pedagogue  was  on  the  best  possible 
terms  with  the  captain,  Spratling,  and  the  newspaper  man,  said  to  him 
that  he  had  "supposed  prisoners  of  war  would  be  kept  under  guard." 

"We  have  no  guardsmen,"  interposed  the  captain.  "Now  and 
then  we  hold  as  prisoners  men  whom  we  can  trust  implicitly,  and 
Mr.  Wade  is  of  the  number.  I  am  not  perfectly  sure,  but  think  it 
needless  to  use  handcuffs  or  cords  in  dealing  with  you.  Tell  me  as  a 
man  of  honor  and  as  a  soldier  that  you  will  not  attempt  to  escape  and 
you  can  go  where  you  please.     The  others,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  since 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  in 


there  are  only  three  of  us  and  the  editor  there  is  a  volunteer  aide-de- 
camp,  and  we  now  have  six  prisoners,  must  be  tied  together." 

The  lieutenant,  looking  into  the  captain's  face,  said  that  his 
"widowed  mother's  home  was  not  far  from  Tunnel  Hill.  These  loyal 
scouts  had  agreed  to  guide  me  safely  thither.  If  you  will  suffer  me  to 
visit  my  home,  I  will  promise  anything.  Here  is  my  furlough.  It 
lasts" 

A  sudden  light  shone  in  the  captain's  eyes.  He  gazed  into  the 
lieutenant's  face  with  suddenly  awakened  interest  and  earnestness  that 
startled  the  young  soldier. 

"Keep  your  furlough,"  said  the  captain.  "I  know  who  you  are 
and  your  mother's  name." 

The  captain  rose,  and  walking  away,  said,  "See  the  schoolmaster, 
there.  I  accept  your  pledge.  You  can  hear  from  Mr.  Wade  much 
that  you  would  gladly  know.  Possibly  it  is  most  fortunate  that  we 
have  met.  I  am  engaged  in  serving  those  you  love.  The  fact  that 
we  are  public  enemies  need  not  affect  our  personal  relations.  Our 
duties  and  obligations  as  soldiers  need  not  clash  with  those  that  rest 
upon  us  as  men.  You  are  paroled,"  continued  the  captain,  "and  I 
•  would  only  advise  you  to  remain  with  us  and  especially  that  you  confer 
with  Mr.  Wade. 

Spratling  had  overheard  none  of  this  colloquy.  He  was  providing 
for  the  security  of  his  prisoners.  When  his  task  was  done,  he  came 
and  sat  near  the  editor,  and  was  devouring  bacon  and  bread  with  that 
energy  which  distinguished  him  when  marching  and  fighting. 

"Do  you  know,  Sprat,"  asked  the  journalist,  "the  name  of  that 
handsome  young  officer  whom  you  almost  choked  to  death  a  little 
while  ago?" 

"No,"  he  answered,  glancing  at  him  and  Wade,  who  were  engrossed 
in  matters  they  discussed,  "  but  I  don't  see  why  the  captain  releases 
him  on  parole  and  at  the  same  time  handcuffs  his  comrades.  He  is 
much  more  dangerous  than  these  two  clodhoppers  who  only  know  the 
woods  and  roads  and  are  too  timid,  if  watched,  to  be  murderous." 

"But  do  you  know  the  name  of  that  gentleman?" 

"No,"  answered  Spratling,  "and  I  don't  care  to  know  ;  but  I  don't 
think,  since  it  cost  me  so  much  risk  to  catch  him,  that  he  should  be 
turned  loose." 

"Let  me  tell  you,  Sprat.  Come  near  that  no  one  else  may  hear. 
That  is  Lieutenant  Hughes,  the  young  man  Bessie  Starnes  talked 
about,  and  let  me  tell  you  further — Oh,  sit  still  and  don't  get  excited, 
Sprat — he  is  Mamie  Hughes'  brother." 

Spratling' s  nerves  and  muscles  were  unstrung.  Bread  and  bacon 
fell  from  his  unconscious  fingers.  He  slowly  returned  his  ugly  knife 
to  its  sheath  in  his  belt,  drew  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  face,  and 
straightening  himself,  as  he  sat,  turned  to  stare  at  his  prisoner. 

"Suppose,"  said  Spratling,  as  if  talking  to  himself,  while  he  stared 
at  the  lieutenant,  "suppose  I  had  cut  his  throat,  as  I  once  thought  of 
doing,  while  he  slept,  or  suppose  I  had  actually  killed  him,  as  I  might 


ii2  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

have  done,  when   I  held  his  throat  !     My  God  !  what  would  Bessie 
have  thought  of  me  !  " 

Forgetful  of  my  existence,  Spratling  rose,  and  approaching  the 
lieutenant,  said  to  him  : 

"You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  that  I  didn't  kill  you  and  how 
sorry  because  I  had  to  make  you  a  prisoner.  I  didn't  know  your 
name  or  that  you  knew  Bessie." 

A  new  leaf  in  the  volume  of  human  nature  was  suddenly  turned  by 
the  lieutenant.  Bessie,  only  the  day  before,  had  told  him  of  Spratling' s 
honest  devotion  to  herself,  but  the  lieutenant  deemed  the  gigantic 
rebel  a  mere  animal,  full  of  courage  as  of  physical  strength.  He  never 
dreamed  of  ascribing  to  the  rude  ranchero  and  herdsman  of  Texas  a 
generosity  of  purpose  and  true  nobility  of  character,  now  partially 
unfolded,  such  as  few  men  have  illustrated  in  acts  or  words. 

The  lieutenant  rose  up  and,  slowly  extending  his  hand,  looked 
searchingly  into  Spratling' s  large,  transparent  blue  eyes  that  never 
faltered  while  the  two  men  studied  one  another's  virtues  as  written  in 
their  faces. 

Spratling  drew  the  lieutenant  aside  and  said  to  him,  "You  don't 
know  how  sorry  I  am  for  what  has  happened  ;  but  I  couldn't  help  it. 
I  did  not  know  that  you  are  Bessie's  lover.  She  has  told  you  about 
me,  I  reckon,  and  what  a  fool  I  was ;  but  she  told  you  I  was  an 
honest  man  and  that  I  would  serve  her  or  even  a  dog  that  she  loved. 
Don't  forget  that  while  Spratling  is  above  ground  and  you  are  true  to 
Bessie,  you  have  a  friend  who  would  storm  hell  if  you  asked  it." 

Two  days  after  the  events  just  narrated,  the  captain  left  Spratling, 
the  pedagogue,  and  lieutenant  not  far  from  our  pickets,  and  with  the 
journalist  and  the  two  soldiers  captured  by  Spratling  at  Starnes'  and 
the  two  bushwhackers  found  with  the  lieutenant,  proceeded  to  General 
Cleburne's  head-quarters.  Every  leading  incident  of  the  preceding 
month  was  here  narrated,  and  the  general,  as  requested,  applied  for 
passports  required  for  the  use  of  the  paroled  lieutenant.  When  these 
came,  two  days  later,  from  the  provost  marshal  general,  the  captain 
returned  to  Spratling's  bivouac.  The  journalist  sought  the  encamp- 
ment of  Pinson's  Mississippi  cavalry,  having  agreed  to  rejoin  the 
captain  when  the  schoolmaster  returned  from  East  Tennessee  with 
Mamie  Hughes.  The  editor  was  also  to  recover  possession  of  his 
horse  and  spend  a  week,  in  the  interim,  with  the  Federal  lieutenant  at 
the  home  of  the  latter,  below  Tunnel  Hill.  Communication  between 
all  these  was  to  be  maintained  through  General  Cleburne's  head- 
quarters. 

Nothing  is  more  intolerably  irksome  to  those  accustomed  to  daily 
newspaper  work  than  the  incomparably  stupid  and  monotonous  life  of 
a  soldier.  Tattoo,  reveille,  dress-parade,  drill,  service  on  the  out- 
posts or  as  sentinels,  ditch-digging,  greasy  cards,  musty,  hard'  bread 
and  tough  beef,  with  no  books  and  rarely  a  newspaper,  are  hourly 
facts  that  invest  with  horror,  when  nearly  twenty  years  have  elapsed, 
memories  of  life   in   camp.     There  is  nothing    to  elevate    or  refine 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  113 

and  everything  to  degrade,  the  intellects  and  tastes  and  brutalize 
one's  habits  and  modes  of  thinking.  There  were  many  educated, 
excellent  gentlemen,  sons  of  rich  cotton  planters,  acting  as  private 
soldiers  in  Pinson's  regiment.  Even  among  these  the  journalist  said 
he  heard  stories  hourly  by  the  camp  fire  that  shocked  his  sensibilities. 
The  great  evils  of  war  are  those  that  result  from  the  separation  of  the 
sexes;  husbands  from  wives,  brothers  from  sisters,  lovers  from  sweet- 
hearts. Vices  consequent  upon  these  facts  are  discovered  in  the 
homes  of  the  people  as  well  as  in  conversations  on  tented  fields. 

To  the  very  extent  that  woman  gains  potency  in  the  church,  in 
society,  in  social  life,  or  in  government,  to  that  extent  man  as  an 
individual  and  as  a  citizen  is  made  worthier  of  God's  approval.  There 
is  a  divinity  in  woman  that  may  be  demonized  by  man,  but  while  she 
remains  herself  she  elevates,  refines,  and  deifies  our  race.  Her 
influence  would  be  as  beneficent  in  law  and  government  as  war 
showed  it  to  be  in  social  life;  and  woman's  morals,  tastes,  and  purity 
should  be  injected  into  the  ballot-box. 

These  memoranda,  made  concurrently  with  the  events  of  which 
they  tell,  are  now  exploited  that  a  new  generation  may  have  some 
inadequate  apprehension  of  codes  of  morals  and  tastes  and  habits  of 
every-day  life  that  obtained  everywhere  in  states  that  became  seats  of 
war.  Many  generals,  and  countless  writers  of  every  grade  of  intel- 
ligence and  truthfulness  have  written  of  campaigns  and  battles.  This 
unpretending  volume  only  assumes  to  tell  how  soldiers  and  people 
talked  and  ate  and  slept  and  loved  and  hated  when  grim-visaged  war 
stalked  abroad  leaving  its  blackest  curse  upon  the  morals  of  homes 
and  churches  and  of  woman.  In  digging  graves  for  myriads  of  men 
whose  depravity  was  as  steadily  progressive  as  the  strokes  of  Death 
were  violent,  spasmodic,  and  numberless,  War  achieved  least  of  its 
measureless  calamities. 

Of  the  character  of  stories  commonly  told  by  camp  fires  I  can  not 
give  a  perfect  illustration.  The  journalist,  when  he,  Spratling,  the 
captain,  and  the  pedagogue  had  again  met  and  were  seated  about 
blazing  logs  during  a  cold  evening  in  February,  1864,  with  half  a 
dozen  cavalrymen — the  journalist's  brother  among  the  number — 
assigned  to  temporary  service  as  scouts — the  journalist  told  a  story 
that  smacked  of  the  morals  of  the  age  when  Mars  was  the  god  of  the 
people  as  of  armies. 

"I  was  telling,  some  time  ago,  of  my  flight  from  Knoxville  to 
Kingston  and  how  I  was  forced,"  said  the  editor,  "to  win  the  favor 
and  confidence  of  the  people  by  becoming  a  preacher.  I  had  spent 
three  years  at  a  theological  college.  My  father  proposed  to  make  me 
an  educated  preacher.  I  did  not  assent;  but  thought  that  I  would 
please  him  if  possible.  But  the  more  I  saw  of  preachers  in  embryo 
the  less  I  was  inclined  to  adopt  their  profession.  I  left  theology  and 
took  to  literature  at  the  university,  and  thence,  after  I  was  graduated, 
was  inducted  into   a  law  school.     But  I   never  forgot  the  forms  or 

8 


ii4  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

lessons  of  the  theological  institution,  or  the  two  or  three  sermons  I 
had  written  with  infinite  care.  How  I  pronounced  one  of  these 
discourses,  and  its  effects,  I  may  tell  to-morrow  night. 

"I  won  the  confidence  of  a  good  Union  methodist  to  such  an 
extent  at  Kingston,  that,  though  I  was  a  baptist,  he  conveyed  me 
in  his  wagon  twenty  miles  toward  Chattanooga.  Burnside's  cavalry 
held  the  railway  below  Knoxville  and  I  was  forced  to  make  a  detour, 
as  formerly  explained,  by  way  of  Kingston.  My  methodist  friend 
commended  me,  as  a  devout  young  baptist  brother,  to  one  Deacon 
Applegate,  of  my  church,  whose  guest  I  now  became.  With  much 
shamefacedness  and  most  unwillingly  did  I  repeat  a  prayer,  night  and 
morning,  in  the  presence  of  the  household  and  the  more  was  I 
chagrined  when  I  went  to  church  and  was  made  to  occupy  a  seat  in 
the  pulpit  while  a  venerable  and  godly  man  expounded  the  scriptures  to 
his  homely  flock.  I  had  begun  to  practice  the  odious  deception  and 
wear  this  false  character  when  no  other  course  would  have  saved  me 
from  incarceration  of  indefinite  duration.  Having  entered  upon  the 
wrongful  and  false  line  of  conduct  I  dared  not  turn  backward.  I 
aided  modestly  in  the  services  and  then  was  asked  to  remain  and 
witness  the  trial  by  the  church  of  Julia  Adams,  a  'good  girl,'  so  the 
brethren  and  sisters  said,  but  'unfortunate.'  I  inquired  of  one  of  the 
brethren  whether  Julia  was  to  be  tried  for  some  'misfortune.'  He 
answered,  with  a  puzzled  look : 

"  'Not  adzactly;  but  its  somehow  that  way.' 

"The  baptist  polity  is  that  of  a  pure  republic.  Every  church 
member,  white  or  black,  male-  or  female,  old  or  young,  is  invested 
with  the  'privilege'  of  suffrage  which  thus  becomes  a  'right' — because 
of  its  universality.  It  happened,  however,  that  the  good  and  aged 
pastor,  Mr.  Robinson,  when  the  conference  was  opened,  advised  the 
unmarried  and  youthful  members  of  the  church  of  both  sexes  to  go 
out.  I  observed  that  Mr.  Applegate's  son,  about  seven  or  eight  years 
of  age,  a  handsome,  intelligent  child,  was  much  excited  and  very  loth 
to  obey  his  mother  and  make  his  exit  with  the  rest.  He  had  attended 
a  country  school  with  Julia  Adams  and  though  the  girl  was  eighteen 
years  of  age,  Jimmy  Applegate  was  her  sworn  lo,ver.  Jimmy  had  heard 
that  Julia  had  loved,  as  the  newspapers  commonly  have  it,  'not  wisely,, 
but  too  well; '  but  Jimmy,  in  the  innocence  of  his  nature,  did  not  see 
in  what  Julia  was  not  as  good  and  beautiful  as  before.  Julia,  unhappy 
child  as  she  was, sat  beside  her  faithful  old  mother  in  a  corner  of  the  little 
log  church,  crying  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  Jimmy  looked  wistfully 
toward  her,  his  eyes  swimming  in  tears,  as  he  went  out  of  the  door. 
Not  many  minutes  later  I  observed  that  Jimmy  had  crawled  between 
two  logs  into  the  goods  box  of  a  pulpit  and  was  quietly  ensconced 
where  he  could  see  Julia's  sweet,  tearful  face  and  watch  the  progress 
of  the  impending  trial.  The  gray-haired  preacher  sat,  when  holding 
the  business  meeting,  at  a  little  table  in  front  of  the  pulpit.  He 
announced  to  the  'bretheren  and  sisterin'  that  the  'object  of  this  session 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  115 

of  the  conference  meeting  is  to  say  what  shall  be  done  in  the  case  of 
sister  Julia  Adams.  You've  all  hearn  about  it  and  there's  no  use 
talking.  Thar  she  sits  aweeping  by  her  aged,  heart-broken  mother, 
who  loves  her  child  and  holds  her  hand,  and  cries  even  more  bitterly 
than  her  unhappy  daughter.  What  have  you  to  say  about  it,  my 
bretheren  and  sisterin?' 

"One  after  another  the  half  dozen  male  members  and  saints  of  the 
church  rose  and  insisted  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  said  in  defence 
of  the  girl.  She  was  a  church  member  and  forgetful  of  obligations 
to  society,  to  the  church,  and  her  own  family  and  fame,  had  suffered 
herself  to  be  betrayed  by  that  scapegrace,  Jim  Carter. 

"The  truth  is,  the  brethren  and  sisters  confessed  no  pity  for  the 
poor  girl,  and  all  denounced  her  in  harshest  terms. 

"Meanwhile  Julia's  grief  was  painful  to  contemplate.  She  threw 
her  arms  about  her  aged  mother's  neck  and  sobbed  aloud.  She  had 
never  before  comprehended  the  frightful  enormity  of  her  misdeeds. 
Nearly  every  old  member  of  the  church  had  spoken  concurrently, 
urging  Julia's  expulsion  and  the  gray- haired  pastor  would  groan  out, 
as  each  speaker  sat  down,  a  deep,  sonorous,  solemn  'Amen.' 

"Evidently  Julia  was  undone,  and  she,  the  mother,  and  the  faithful 
little  lad  in  the  pulpit,  who  loved  her  most  ardently,  were  overwhelmed 
by  this  great  grief  and  impending  and  incurable  disgrace. 

"There  was  profound  silence  and  everybody  watched  earnestly  the 
slow  deliberation  with  which  Mrs.  Nancy  Ransom,  an  aged  widow, 
rose  in  her  place.  She  removed  her  homespun  sun-bonnet  and  her 
long,  white,  unconfmed  hair  fell  down  her  back  and  over  her 
shoulders  curved  by  the  weight  of  eighty  years. 

"'Brethren  and  sisters,'  she  began,  'I  want  to  say  something,  but 
aint  used  to  saying  what  I  think  before  the  church,  and  yet  I  can't  be 
silent  when  I  listen  to  these  unchristianlike  speeches  you  have  been 
making.  Poor  Julia  !  with  all  my  heart  do  I  pity  her !  I  always 
loved  the  warm-hearted,  confiding,  generous  child,  and  I  love  her 
just  the  same  to-day  as  a  year  ago.  She  is  just  as  good  and  true  and 
honest  to-day,  as  she  was  before  this  black  cloud  cast  its  hateful 
shadow  on  her  path,  and  before  this  tempest  burst  upon  her  sunshiny 
home.  See  her  bitter  tears  and  pale,  sweet  face  and  the  black  sorrow 
that  sits  on  her  stainless  forehead. 

"'Admit  she  sinned.  Has  she  not  repented?  Look  and  see!' 
exclaimed  the  old  dame,  pointing  at  Julia  clasped  in  her  mother's 
arms. 

"'Brethren,'  she  continued,  'I  don't  think  you  read  your  bibles. 
I  don't  think  you  know  anything  about  the  Savior.  You  are 
governed  by  your  resentments  and  not  by  that  charity  which  God 
taught  us  to  practice.  Don't  you  remember  when  that  unhappy 
widow,  another  poor  Julia,  was  brought  before  God?  When  it  was 
sought  to  have  Him  condemn  her — expel  her  from  God's  church  and 
from  God's  presence  and  from  God's  mercy,  what  was  His  answer? 
I  repeat  it  here  to-day  in  reply  to  all  that  these  brethren  have  said. 


n6  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

"'Let  him  who  is  without  sin  cast  the  first  stone.'  Who  among 
you  men  or  women  dare  cast  the  first  stone  at  Julia? ' 

"  Here  the  old  woman  straightened  herself  up  to  her  full  height. 
Her  great  blue  eyes  dimmed  by  years,  blazed  with  the  fires  of  reno- 
vated youth.  She  shook  her  bony  forefinger  at  the  old  preacher,  and 
in  deep  tones  and  measured  accents,  said: 

"  'Brethren  and  sisters,  it  is  my  honest  opinion,  in  the  presence  of 
Christ's  example  and  of  our  own  natures  and  of  the  fact  that  God 
made  us  and  not  we  ourselves,  that  Sister  Julia's  is  the  foremostest  sin 
that  God  Almighty  will  go  about  forgiving.' 

' '  The  last  were  her  precise,  exact,  earnest  words. 

"Silence,  profound  and  lasting^  that  followed,  told  of  the  effects 
of  her  simple  eloquence.     The  old  preacher  groaned  audibly. 

"I  observed  that  little  Jimmy  Applegate,  as  he  sat  in  the  pulpit, 
was  in  ecstasies.  He  rubbed  his  sunburnt  hands  together.  His  long 
hair  was  brushed  away  from  his  smiling  nut-brown  face.  His  tearful 
eyes  shone  lustrously  and  lovingly  while  he  listened  and  watched 
intently  each  movement  and  caught  every  simple,  earnest  word  that 
fell  from  the  tremulous  lips  of  wrinkled,  time-worn  Mrs.  Ransom. 
Meanwhile,  poor,  unhappy  Julia's  eyes  almost  smiled  through  tears 
that  stood  still  at  last. 

"Her  wretched  mother  stared  wonderingly,  amazed  beyond 
measure  that  one  woman  had  at  last  pitied  and   forgiven  another. 

"  There  was  protracted  and  death-like  silence  when  Mrs.  Ransom 
sat  down. 

"At  length  Dr.  Joe  Prewitt,  a  gray-haired,  most  influential  deacon, 
rose  in  his  place,  and  said : 

"  'Bretheren,  there  is  no  use  talking.  Sister  Ransom  is  right. 
We  forgot  Christ.  We  forgot  that  none  of  us  can  "cast  the  first 
stone."  I  move  that  Sister  Adams'  name,  she  having  repented  of 
her  sin,  remain  on  the  church  book.' 

"  'Amen !  Amen  !  Bless  the  Lord  ! '  sang  out  the  aged  preacher. 

"The  motion  was  carried,  mem.  con.  The  doxology  was  sung; 
the  old  preacher  pronounced  his  benediction  upon  the  assembly,  and 
all  were  going  out  when  Jimmy  Applegate  ran,  and  grasping  the 
bony  hand  of  Mrs.  Ransom,  kissed  it.  He  then  followed  closely 
after  Julia.  I  watched  the  little  fellow  whose  tenderness  and  fidelity 
were  even  touching.  He  said  to  Julia,  when  she  turned  and  kissed 
him: 

"  'The  oldest  and  youngest  of  us,  Mrs.  Ransom  and  Jimmy,  knew 
you  were  good  and  true  and  we  loved  )ou,  and  now  everybody  loves 
you,  and  you  won't  cry  any  more,  will  you,  Julia?' 

"Julia  again  kissed  her  big-hearted,  honest  little  lover,  as  tenderly 
and  gratefully  as  she  did  the  aged  Mrs.  Ransom  who  came  to  bid 
her  good  bye,  and  tell  her  to  be  a  'good  girl'  and  she  would  never 
want  friends. 

"I  am  much  inclined  to  believe,  boys,"  said  the  editor,  "after 
studying  her  sweet,  pretty  face  and  watching  the   tears  that  fell  from 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  117 

her  great  blue  eyes,  that  Julia  Adams  is  still  one  of  the  best  and 
truest  and  most  stainless  of  her  sex.  Her  soul,  if  not  her  body,  is 
uncontaminated,  and  I  must  say  that  until  I  heard  Mrs.  Ransom's 
simple,  earnest  defence  of  Julia,  I  had  never  translated  liberally  the 
words  that  fell  from  Jesus'  lips : 

' ' '  Qui  sine  peccato  est  prius  in  Mam  lapidem  mitlct. ' 
"It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the  venerable  dame,  Mrs. 
Ransom,  gave  to  the  proper  translation  of  these  words  a  specific 
application  to  the  offence  she  discussed,  perhaps  wholly  unwarranted. 
•'  He  who  is  without  sin'  can  condemn  the  guilty.  It  is  not  asserted 
that  he  who  is  guiltless  of  this  special  offence  is  alone  fit  to  pronounce 
sentence  upon  the  weak,  unfortunate,  and  fallen." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


Death  of  Major  General  Van  Dorn. — A  True  Story  and  Sad  Enough. — The  Northern 
Version. 

The  lieutenant,  while  we  were  resting  at  noon,  was  telling  that  he 
was  sent  at  one  time  on  special  duty  and  as  a  bearer  of  dispatches  to 
New  Madrid  in  Southeastern  Missouri.  He  said  that,  returning  to 
Nashville,  he  was  accompanied  by  an  old  citizen  of  Spring  Hill,  a 
village  thirty  miles,  perhaps,  southwest  of  Columbia,  in  Tennessee. 
My  newly  made  friend  was  a  sensible,  sturdy  farmer,  who,  it  seems, 
had  been  a  surgeon  in  the  United  States  Army.  His  account  of  the 
killing  of  the  Confederate  Major  General  Van  Dorn  greatly  interested 
me.  I  had  been  reading  of  this  terrible  affair  in  northern  newspapers, 
one  of  which  stated  truthfully  that  Van  Dorn  in  all  physical  and  social 
respects  was  a  perfect  knight,  belonging  to  the  middle  ages  rather  than 
to  modern  times.  He  was  quite  young  when  killed, — perhaps  thirty- 
six, — but  had  been  distinguished  in  the  old  army,  before  the  war,  as  a 
peerless  Indian  fighter.  Marvelous  statements  are  told  of  his  horse- 
manship and  how  he  would  ride  down  upon  Commanches,  Navajahoes, 
and  other  bands,  sabering  right  and  left. 

"  On  the  field  of  battle  he  was  the  coolest  man  I  ever  saw,"  said  the 
doctor.  "Often  when  I  have  felt  sick  at  the  stomach  and  wanted  to 
compress  my  shoulders  and  ribs  into  a  little  space,  I  have  seen  Van 
Dorn  sit  there  under  a  rain  of  bullets,  absolutely  enjoying  himself. 
He  was  a  knightly  fellow  to  look  at.  His  hair  was  a  clear  golden 
color,  and  in  natural  ringlets,  it  fell  around  his  shoulders  and  neck 
and  looked  like  a  King  Charles  wig.  He  had  a  rich  golden  mustache 
which  sprung  across  the  whole  upper  part  of  his  face,  and  then  he 
wore  a  chin  whisker.  He  had  the  softest  blue  eyes,  clean-cut  features, 
and  good  teeth.  He  was  rather  below  middle  size  and  a  splendid 
horseman   and   man-at-arms.     Besides,    he   could   blush  like  a   girl. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  119 

• 

This,   with   his   winning    address,    made   him   absolutely   irresistible 
among  women.     Wherever  he  went,  they  gave  way. 

"  He  was  one  of  the  few  men  in  either  army  that  could  sing  and 
play  musical  instruments  with  a  sweet,  rich  voice  and  accomplished 
hand.  He  wrote  poetry.  In  his  dress  he  was  neat  as  a  pin.  As 
soon  as  he  entered  a  household  his  bearing  attracted,  his  address 
delighted,  his  accomplishments  made  the  women  worship  him,  and  I 
am  sorry  to  say  that  he  was  a  lawless  roue. 

"His  father  was  an  old  Mississippi  judge,  and  I  suppose  of  Dutch 
descent.  The  old  man  was  just  about  the  son's  size,  and  often  used 
to  come  over  to  our  camp,  and  he  was  almost  invariably  full  of 
whiskey.  One  day  he  said  to  me,  '  Doctor,  do  you  hear  what  some  of 
these  chaps  have  been  saying  about  me — that  I  drink  a  good  deal  of 
whiskey?  They  don't  know,  doctor,  what  an  unquenchable  thirst  I 
have  !  '  Van  Dorn  had  married  in  Alabama,  I  think,  and  his  conduct 
aggrieved  his  wife,  although  I  believe  she  sent  for  his  body  after  his 
death  and  took  it  back  to  Alabama  and  buried  it  on  her  farm,  in  a 
field,  where  I  suppose  he  lies  without  a  stone. 

"  Doctor  Peters  was  a  practicing  physician  at  Spring  Hill.  He  had 
married  his  second  wife,  considerably  younger  than  himself — a  giddy, 
pretty  woman.  It  was  absolutely  certain  that  when  such  a  creature 
should  be  seen  by  Van  Dorn,  and  listened  to  him,  there  would  be  a 
flirtation  and  perhaps  an  intrigue.  It  happened  of  course.  Peters 
was  one  of  those  silent,  deadly  men  you  meet  with  in  Tennessee  and 
derivative  states ;  he  had  a  pair  of  cold  gray  eyes,  which  in  ordinary 
times  were  nearly  expressionless,  but  would  start  up  demoniacally. 
Inflict  a  personal  wrong  on  such  a  person  and  he  would  be  worse  than 
an  Indian.  He  had  a  lean,  listless  look,  but  turned  into  iron  when 
excited.  Van  Dorn  came  into  this  vicinity  laboring  under  a  bad 
reputation.  He  had  been  accused  of  seducing  two  fair  daughters  of 
Vicksburg,  and  it  was  said  of  him  at  Memphis  that  with  the  family  of 
a  leading  citizen  there,  mother  and  daughter,  he  had  been  treacherous. 
Van  Dorn  didn't  care  about  it.  He  lived  in  his  own  personality  and 
believed,  to  some  extent,  that  all  within  his  command  was  his.  I 
mention  these  facts  to  answer  your  question  as  to  whether  he  was 
much  regarded.  By  those  of  his  officers  who  had  received  his  favors 
and  knew  him  intimately  he  was  lamented,  but  by  the  general  public 
and  by  public  opinion,  I  think  not. 

"He  rose  very  rapidly  in  the  Mexican  war  from  second  lieutenant 
to  be  a  captain  at  Cerro  Gordo  and  a  major  at  Cherubusco.  From 
the  very  beginning  he  was  one  of  the  most  dauntless  officers  in  our 
army.  I  think  I  am  in  error  about  his  age.  I  believe  he  was  born 
in  1823.  In  1858,  in  an  attack  on  the  Commanches,  he  killed  fifty-six 
Indians,  and  was  dangerously  wounded  in  four  places.  No  man  in 
the  old  army  was  more  intense  in  his  devotion  to  slave  property  on 
account  of  his  family,  marriage,  birth,  and  temperament.  As  Early 
as  January,  1861,  he  resigned  his  commission,  became  a  colonel  in 
the  Confederate  service,  and  took  a  leading  part  in  Texas  in  capturing 


i2o  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  GAMP  FIRE. 

other  regulars.  He  took  the  Star  of  the  West  steamer,  received  the 
sword  of  Major  Sibley,  and  almost  immediately  became  a  major 
general,  when  he  was  put  in  charge  of  the  Trans-Mississippi  District. 
He  fought  his  leading  battle,  which  was  a  reverse,  at  Pea  Ridge. 

"Van  Dorn  was  a  favorite  of  Mr.  Jefferson  Davis,  and  had  com- 
mand in  the  battle  at  Corinth,  which  was  also  unfortunate  in  results. 
He  was  court-martialed  at  that  time. 

"Afterward  he  had  his  head-quarters  at  Spring  Flill  several  weeks. 
I  am  of  the  belief  that  nothing  criminal  happened  between  himself 
and  this  woman,  Mrs.  Peters,  though  I  do  not  acquit  him  of  bad 
intentions.  The  woman,  however,  but  recently  wedded  to  Peters, 
had  sufficiently  inspired  his  mind  with  the  idea  that  a  criminal  intrigue 
had  commenced.  Peters  then  deliberately  arranged  the  assassination 
of  Van  Dorn  and  his  own  escape.  He  established  relays  of  horses  to 
carry  him  into  the  Federal  lines  by  rapid  flight.  He  went  from  his- 
house  to  Van  Dorn's  quarters,  and,  saying  that  he  had  some  business 
just  inside  the  Federal  lines,  would  like  to  have  a  pass  to  get  through. 
Probably  glad  to  get  him  out  of  reach,  with  that  interesting  wife 
behind  him,  Van  Dorn  cheerfully  consented,  and  leaned  forward  on 
his  desk  to  write  the  pass,  and  signed  his  name  to  it.  At  this  moment 
Dr.  Peters,  leaning  on  the  desk  on  his  left  hand,  drew  his  pistol  while 
Van  Dorn  was  leaning  forward  over  his  signature,  and  shot  the 
general  through  the  spinal  marrow,  at  the  back  of  the  head.  The 
ball  did  not  pierce  the  brain  but  produced  paralysis,  and  he  died  in 
two  hours.  Peters  seized  the  pass,  got  on  his  horse,  and  was  far  on 
the  road  to  the  Federal  lines  before  it  was  discovered  that  Van  Dorn 
had  been  shot.  One  of  his  staff  coming  in,  found  him  leaning  over 
the  table  muttering  incoherently,  and  bleeding.  They  placed  him  on 
a  lounge  and  heard  him  say,  '  Peters  has  murdered  me. ' 

"Peters  passed  into  the  Federal  lines.  There  it  was  no  harm  to- 
have  killed  Van  Dorn.  He  was  not  molested.  After  the  war  it  was 
not  thought  proper  to  indict  him  for  a  murder  committed  during 
hostilities  under  the  circumstances.  He  condoned  his  wife's  offence 
at  the  end  of  the  war,  and  took  her  back,  and  they  moved  to 
Arkansas.  In  a  little  while  the  woman  began  to  coquette  again,  and 
again  aroused  Peters'  ire.  He  took  her  next  supposed  paramour  by 
the  chin,  with  a  bowie-knife  in  the  other  hand,  and  literally  guillotined 
him.      That  is  the  last  known  of  Dr.  Peters." 

Such  is  the  story  that  has  been  popularized  in  northern  newspapers. 
It  is  untrue  in  every  respect.  The  assertion  that  Peters,  after  killing 
Van  Dorn,  cut  the  throat  of  a  lover  of  his  wife  in  Arkansas  is  a  sheer 
fabrication.  He  is  a  quiet,  sober,  unobtrusive,  educated  gentleman, 
and  he  and  his  wife  have  never  been  talked  about,  save  because  of  the 
killing  of  Van  Dorn.  He  was  an  ardent  secessionist  and  had  been  a 
leading  member  of  the  Tennessee  legislature.  After  killing  Van  Dorn, 
he  fled  to  Nashville,  pursued  by  Van  Dorn's  staff  officers. 

"When  he  came  to  Nashville,  I  happened  to  be  there,"  continued 
Lieutenant  Hughes.     "He  was  brought  before  General  Rosecrans,  to 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  121 

whom  he  applied  for  a  passport  to  St.  Louis.  The  general  at  first 
refused  because  Peters  had  been  a  conspicuous  secessionist  in  the 
legislature  of  Tennessee.  But  Governor  Brownlow  and  ex-Governor 
William  B.  Campbell  interposed  in  Peters'  behalf,  and  the  passport 
was  conceded. 

"Peters  recited  the  story,  in  my  presence,  of  the  taking  off  of  Van 
Dorn.  He  suspected  the  progress  of  an  intrigue.  He  knew  Van  Dorn's 
character  and  Peters'  wife  was  famed  for  her  personal  charms,  exqui- 
site taste  in  dress,  taste  and  coquetry.  At  Ben  Weller's  boarding 
house,  on  Cherry  Street  in  Nashville,  where  Brownlow  and  Campbell 
lived,  I  heard  Peters  tell  that  he  had  suspected  Van  Dorn's  infamous 
purposes,  and  in  order  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  the  facts,  he  announced 
his  intention  to  be  absent  from  home  several  days.  He  made  every 
preparation  for  a  journey,  but  returned  the  night  of  the  day  of  his 
departure,  and  concealed  himself  in  the  ice-house,  where  he  remained 
till  about  midnight.  He  then  heard  Van  Dorn's  horse's  feet  and  soon 
afterward,  the  clanking  of  Van  Dorn's  heavy  spurs  as  he  came  upon 
the  back  porch.  Van  Dorn  himself  had  given  Peters  a  passport 
through  the  Confederate  lines,  that  he  might  enter  Kentucky. 

"Peters  ascended  the  ladder  from  the  ice-pit,  and  looking  out,  beheld 
Van  Dorn's  plumed  hat.  At  this  instant,  as  the  Confederate  chieftain 
entered  the  house,  admitted  by  the  wife,  Peters  having  a  pistol  in  his 
hand,  was  almost  impelled  to  kill  both  the  wife  and  her  lover.  But 
instead,  Peters  only  followed  quietly,  and  telling  Van  Dorn,  '  Now, 

you  d d  scouudrel,  I   have   caught   you,  but  I  will  spare  your  life 

and  prevent  gossip  and  the  degradation  of  this  woman  and  the  stain 
upon  my  fame  if  you  will  write  and  sign  the  statement  that  you  have 
corrupted  my  wife.' 

"Van  Dorn  hesitated,  but  the  cold  steel  gleamed  in  Peters'  eyes  and 
the  cocked  pistol  was  ready  to  do  its  deadly  office,  and  Van  Dorn 
said,  T  will  sign  the  paper.' 

"Next  morning  Peters  called  at  Van  Dorn's  marquee.  Van  Dorn 
asked  Peters  what  he  proposed  to  do  with  the  paper  to  be  signed  by 
himself.  Peters  replied  that  its  contents  should  never  be  known  to 
the  public,  but  that  he  would  take  it  to  Richmond  and  learn  whether 
the  Confederate  government  were  base  enough  and  so  depraved  that 
it  invested  men  with  high  offices  and  honors  who  professionally 
debauched  the  wives  and  daughters  of  those  serving  the  government, 
however  humbly,  with  tireless  fidelity. 

"  'Van  Dorn  asked  me,'  said  Peters,  'to  wait  till  two  o'clock,  when 
he  would  certainly  execute  the  paper  as  I  required.  I  am  satisfied 
now  that  he  thought  that  my  passion  would  be  dispelled  by  the  lapse 
of  a  few  hours  and  that  he  would  easily  escape  the  necessity  I  sought 
to  impose.  At  two,  p.  m.,  I  was  again  at  Van  Dorn's  tent.  His 
adjutant  general  was  with  him.  This  gentleman  withdrew  at  once 
and  Van  Dorn  and  I  were  alone  together.  I  had  not  attempted  to 
kill  Van  Dorn  in  my  own  home  and  had  postponed  the  final  concession 
of  my  exactions,  and  Van  Dorn  thought  there  was  no  risk  at  last  in 


122  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

refusing  to  do  as  he  had  promised.  I  had  the  fleetest,  finest  horse  in 
Tennessee  at  hand.  I  did  not  know  what  was  coming  and  did  not 
intend,  in  any  event,  to  be  caught  by  Van  Dorn's  stipendiaries  and 
clerks. 

"'When  I  approached  Van   Dorn,  he  said,  quietly,  that  he  had 

concluded  not  to  give  me   any  such    "G — d   d d    paper"    as   I 

required.     Then    I    answered,'    said   Peters,    "You    are    a   d d 

scoundrel,"  and  shot  him  before  he  rose  up.  The  bullet,  I  think, 
broke  his  neck.  I  rode  several  hundred  yards  before  the  alarm  was 
given.  Van  Dorn's  staff-officers  and  several  soldiers  pursued  me.  I 
don't  think  they  were  very  anxious  to  catch  me.  I  could  not  have 
been  taken  alive  and  was  so  armed  that  I  was  dangerous,  and  they 
knew  it.' 

"But  Rosecrans  was  finally  induced,  as  I  have  stated,"  said  the 
lieutenant,  "by  Governor  Brownlow  and  ex-Governor  W.  B.  Camp- 
bell to  grant  the  passport  asked  for  by  Peters,  and  the  reason  given 
was  that  though  Peters  was  a  devout  secessionist  and  for  this  might 
properly  be  hanged,  yet  he  had  done  God  and  the  country  such  a  service, 
by  ridding  the  earth  of  Van  Dorn,  that  Peters  deserved  well  of  his 
country  and  race.  Peters  did  not  believe  that  his  wife  was  debauched 
but  Van  Dorn's  criminality  was  none  the  less.  He  did  not  even 
deny  his  purpose.  Peters'  forbearance  grew  out  of  this  fact  and 
that  other  that  he  sought  to  evade  scandal-mongers  and  newspaper 
notoriety." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that,  like  the  lieutenant,  his  listeners  approved 
Dr.  Peters'  conduct ;  and,  therefore,  the  people  concurring  with  us  in 
opinion,  Dr.  Peters  was  never  prosecuted. 

This  story  is  told  not  made  because  of  its  reference  to  prominent 
men  of  the  war  period;  but,  like  many  other  narratives  in  this 
volume,  to  illustrate  the  force  and  direction  and  training  of  public 
opinion  in  the  South. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


The  Song  that  destroyed  the  Confederacy  and  dissolved  its  Armies.— Most  Remark- 
able Military  Expedition  of  which  Human  History  Tells  or  Genius  ever  Conceived 
or  Executed. — The  Memorable  Campaign  of  Moral  Effects. — Its  Painful  and 
,  Pitiful  Results. — An  Apparition. — The  Great  Explosion  in  Knoxville. — Death 

•of  Bill  Carter. 

The  pedagogue  was  a  delightful  raconteur.  Though  his  stories  were 
tinctured  always,  and  naturally  enough,  with  his  political  prejudices, 
we  were  never  offended.  In  fact,  the  old  Whigs  and  Union  men 
in  the  Confederate  service  often  gave  expression  to  views  never 
tolerated  among  officers  and  placeholders.  With  the  common  soldiers 
the  people  sympathized,  and  when,  in  1863-4,  the  whole  country  was 
singing  a  lackadaisical,  sorrowful  ditty,  with  the  refrain, 

"When  this  cruel  war  is  over, 
Maryland,  my  Maryland  !  " 

the  people  were  thoroughly  beaten.  There  was  nothing  to  commend 
the  horrible,  dolorous  ditty  except  its  invocation  of  peace,  and  yet 
<every  child,  negro,  and  woman  was  singing  it.  Men  went  humming  it 
to  the  fields  and  workshops,  and  soldiers,  catching  the  sickly,  pitiful 
melody,  that  over-ran  more  pitiful  words,  deserted  their  colors  till  Mr. 
Jefferson  Davis,  at  Macon,  Georgia,  announced,  in  the  spring  or  early 
summer  of  1864,  that  two-thirds  of  his  soldiers  had  deserted  then- 
colors.  It  made  one's  heart  sick  to  hear  everywhere  of  the  woes  of 
military  despotism  and  this  heart-rending  cry  for  peace  that  came 
welling  up  in  this  wretched  song  from  the  great  fountain  of  popular 
griefs.  The  vigorous,  heroic  verses  of  Father  Ryan,  of  Lide  Merri- 
wether,  and  of  Harry  Timrod,  and  John  Mitchell's  eloquent  portrayal 
■of  the  woes  of  "conquered"  Ireland,  availed  nothing.  The  common 
people  persistently  sang  the  dolorous  ditty,  and  the  Confederacy  was 
undone.     Spratling  began  to  recite,  -'Maryland,  my  Maryland,"  his 


i24  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

deep,  strong,  musical  voice  investing  the  monotonous  music  with  a 
share  of  attractiveness,  when  the  schoolmaster  quoted  the  philosopher 
who  said  that  "he  is  master  of  the  country  who  writes  its  songs  and 
not  he  who  makes  its  laws."  Spratling  was  silenced  and  the  peda- 
gogue began  to  tell  of  the  marvelous  campaign  of  moral  effects  to 
which  he  had  alluded  in  former  conversations.  He  said  that  Leadbetter, 
in  Eastern  Tennessee,  a  Confedederate  Department  Commander,  in 
1862-3,  was  weak,  violent,  and  tyrannical.  The  post  commander  at 
Knoxville,  Morrisette,  was  an  artillery  officer.  He  had  been  reared  a 
banker's  clerk,  was  a  speculator,  broker,  and  auctioneer.  He  had 
never  fired  a  gun  or  pistol,  and  when  appointed  captain  of  artillery 
and  given  in  charge  six,  and  then  twelve,  field-pieces,  had  never  seen 
a  battery.  Of  course  he  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  gunnery  or  of 
artillery  drill  and  practice.  He  selected  as  his  first  lieutenant  one 
Baker,  an  eleve  of  a  German  military  school  and  an  adept  in  the  art  of 
war.  I  used  to  attend  the  dress  parades  of  this  "Morrisette  Battery" 
to  watch  the  captain's  efforts  to  catch  the  whispered  words  of  com- 
mand given  by  Baker.  Then  Morrisette  would  repeat  the  words  in 
the  swelling,  sonorous  accents  of  a  brigadier.  When  the  "manual  of  the 
piece"  was  gone  through  with  and  duties  of  dress  parade  were  dis- 
charged, then  Morrisette,  arrayed  in  all  the  feathers  and  toggery  of 
glorious  war  and  mounted  on  a  magnificent  charger,  would  lead  his 
battery,  guns,  caissons,  and  men  and  horses  through  the  streets  of 
staring,  wondering  Knoxville. 

Morrisette  told  me  that  the  "moral  effect  upon  the  disloyal  popula- 
tion of  the  place  was  very  fine."  I  used  to  think  the  moral  effect  of 
Leadbetter's  profuse  administration  of  the  oath  of  loyalty  most  unfor- 
tunate. In  this,  Morrisette  concurred.  But  Leadbetter  was  singularly 
well  pleased  when  Morrisette's  polished  guns  went  gleaming  through 
the  streets  in  the  gorgeous  sunlight  of  East  Tennessee.  Bootblacks, 
newsboys,  and  idlers  about  the  bar-rooms  swore  roundly,  when 
Morrisette  strutted  by,  that  his  was  the  finest,  bravest  battery  in  the 
world. 

Morrisette  would  look  neither  to  the  right  nor  left.  He  was  intent 
on  duty.  His  bosom  was  swelling  with  emotions  of  purest  patriotism. 
He  was  the  impersonation  of  lofty  aspirations,  and  every  inch  a  soldier. 
He  was  small  of  stature,  had  a  huge  nose  and  little  legs,  and  dressed 
gorgeously.  While  Morrisette  was  thus  appealing  to  the  fears  of 
Union  men,  Leadbetter  was  briskly  imprisoning  their  consciences  by 
"swearing  them  in,"  and  East  Tennessee  was  slowly  lapsing,  it 
seemed,  into  secessionism. 

The  jail,  meanwhile,  was  full  to  overflowing.  A  magistrate  of  the 
place  named  Tillson,  a  vulgar,  ignorant,  noisy,  whiskey-drinking 
fellow,  became  the  partner  of  a  vigorous  lawyer  of  the  town.  A  cav- 
alry commander  was  also  interested  in  the  cruel,  nefarious  business. 

The  magistrate  asserting  jurisdiction  in  political  cases,  mountains 
and  valleys  were  searched  and  every  suspected  individual  was  arrested, 
without  warrant,  by  the  cavalryman  Blackburne   and   brought   before 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  125 

the  red-haired  "squire."  This  grave  and  solemn  sot  always  advised 
•'culprits"  to  see  the  "great  and  good  lawyer,"  who  managed  to  scare 
simple  people  till  they  gave  him  all  their  money.  Now  and  then  he 
acquired  a  pretty  farm  in  compensation  for  arduous  "professional 
services." 

I  was  at  the  Lamar  House  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  Blackburne, 
the  lawless  myrmidon  of  the  squire,  brought  in  twenty  or  more 
"disloyal  people."  Colonel  Casey  Young,  now  an  ex-M.  C.  and  then 
Adjutant  General  on  the  staff  of  Brigadier  General  William  H.  Car- 
roll, happened  to  be  on  the  street  when  Blackburne  came  with  his 
prisoners.  He  was  accustomed  to  deliver  them  to  Fox,  the  jailor, 
another  "good  and  true  man"  of  the  period,  so  called  in  official 
papers  at  department  headquarters*.  Dismayed  and  helpless,  these 
Union  men  were  moving  toward  Fox's  dungeons.  Colonel  Young 
addressed  one  of  them,  an  intelligent  preacher — a  presbyterian,  I 
think.  I  heard  him  say  that  he  had  been  teaching  school  and  preach- 
ing and  had  nothing  to  do  with  war  ;  that  he  never  spoke  of  it,  but 
devoted  himself  to  the  service  of  God,  his  church,  and  his  pupils. 
Colonel  Young  at  once  instructed  the  guards  to  leave  this  gentleman 
at  the  hotel.  It  was  understood  that  the  facts  affecting  his  arrest 
would  be  investigated  next  morning.  The  preacher's  two  daughters, 
charming  girls,  had  followed  him  to  Knoxville.  Late  at  night  they 
came  weeping  to  Colonel  Young's  apartment.  The  lawyer  and  the 
jailor,  Fox,  were  in  their  father's  room.  They  had  given  the  lawyer 
a  thousand  dollars  in  gold  which  they  had  brought  from  home  to  save 
their  father  from  Fox's  clutches.     The  lawyer  demanded  more. 

Young,  half  dressed,  went  to  the  preacher's  room.  The  lawyer  had 
disappeared,  but  the  pug-nosed,  squarely  built  jailor  was  with  the  pris- 
oner, and  in  the  act  of  leading  him  to  jail,  as  instructed  by  the  justice 
of  the  peace  at  the  instigation  of  the  learned  lawyer.  Young  ordered 
Fox  to  leave  the  hotel,  telling  him  that  if  he  imprisoned  political 
offenders  under  a  mittimus  from  a  state  court,  he  (Young)  would  have 
him  shot.  Fox  slunk  away ;  but  the  lawyer  still  enjoys  riches  that 
sprang  from  the  hard-earned  $1,000  filched  from  these  pretty  presby- 
terian girls. 

Next  morning  I  visited  the  jail.  Young  had  frightened  Fox,  who 
was  a  cringing  supplicant  when  I  entered  the  prison  yard.  He  was 
made  to  understand  how  he  was  violating  the  law  in  obeying  the  mag- 
istrate's decrees.  Fox  said  that  a  prominent  lawyer  of  the  town 
(naming  him)  was  the  magistrate's  adviser,  and  that  he,  the  poor  jailor, 
knew  nothing  about  it.  On  the  contrary,  Fox  robbed  each  prisoner 
mercilessly,  and  starved  those  who  were  without  money,  so  they 
stated,  remorselessly.  Those  suspected  of  having  money  or  known  to 
have  rich  friends  were  consigned  to  the  iron  cage  till  Fox's  exactions 
were  complied  with.  Mr.  William  Hunt,  many  years  clerk  and 
master  of  the  chancery  court  at  Cleveland,  was  robbed  of  four  thousand 
dollars  by  Fox  and  his  associates  in  the  nefarious  business.  Mr.  Hunt 
said  that  a  secessionist  furnished  him  part  of  the  money  with  which  he 


i26  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

finally  bought  his  liberty.  There  was  never  a  jailor  so  abhorred  by 
prisoners  as  this  man  Fox.  I  may  do  him  injustice,  since  I  tell  what 
I  heard  from  his  victims.  I  would  not  wrong  his  memory,  but  there 
was  joy  in  many  modest  homes  in  bright,  peaceful  valleys  of  East 
Tennessee  when  Burnside  captured  Fox  at  Bristol  and  consigned  him 
to  his  own  iron  box  in  the  jail  at  Knoxville.  A  few  days  later,  when 
the  turnkey  made  his  usual  rounds,,  he  found  Fox  dead  in  his  cage- 
Nobody  seemed  to  care  about  it,  and  I  never  learned  whether  he 
committed  suicide,  as  was  rumored,  or  died  of  terror.  He  feared,, 
when  he  fled  from  Knoxville,  that  the  people  of  East  Tennessee  would 
wreak  vengeance  upon  him  for  the  outrages  and  robberies  practiced 
by  himself,  the  lawyer,  the  magistrate,  and  the  cavalry  leader.  Hence 
the  story  that  he  took  poison.  The  magistrate  of  whom  I  tell  died  a 
frightful  death  in  Texas.  Raving  mad,  tortured  by  visions  of  help- 
less women  begging  for  mercy  for  those  they  loved,  pursued  by 
hideous  phantoms  to  which  whiskey  gives  birth  and  clothes  with 
nameless  terrors,  the  wretched  man  cursed  God  and  himself  and  was. 
no  more.  The  lawyer,  who  profited  most  by  the  crimes  of  Fox  and 
the  justice  of  the  peace,  still  lives,  but  not  in  Knoxville. 

Among  prisoners  at  this  time  in  Fox's  charge  was  William  G. 
Brownlow,  afterward  governor  and  United  States  Senator.  He  was. 
emaciated  to  the  last  degree.  I  remember  that  he  showed  me  a 
"running  seaton"  on  his  breast  and  said  that  his  condition  was  such 
that,  if  he  were  not  taken  from  the  cold,  comfortless  prison  and  sup- 
plied with  better  food,  he  would  soon  die.  In  the  same  apartment 
with  Mr.  Brownlow  were  many  farmers,  Confederate  deserters,  and 
all  classes  of  people,  victims  of  Fox's  cupidity.  Colonel  Young,  in 
conversing  with  these  people,  became  satisfied  that  their  imprisonment: 
was  needless  as  well  as  lawless  and  wrongful.  The  next  day  there  was. 
a  general  jail  delivery.  Brownlow  himself  was  sent  to  his  residence 
on  Cumberland  Street,  and  not  many  weeks  later,  when  his  health 
was  somewhat  improved,  in  charge  of  an  escort  commanded  by 
Colonel  Young  and  Captain  O'Brien,  he  was  sent  through  Chatta- 
nooga and  Shelbyville  to  Nashville,  then  occupied  by  Union  armies.. 
Curious,  staring,  wondering,  and  untraveled  southern  soldiers  hearing 
that  the  famous  editor,  preacher,  and  Unionist,  Brownlow,  was  on 
the  train  at  Chattanooga,  sought  to  discover  his  identity.  One  of 
them,  bolder  than  the  rest,  gained  access  to  Brownlow' s  car  and  asked 
Brownlow  himself,  pale,  wan,  and  mild-mannered  as  he  was,  to  desig- 
nate the  terrible  parson.  Brownlow  pointed  to  Colonel  Young. 
"Johnny  Reb"  stared  at  Young  a  moment  most  intently  and  then,. 
drawing  a  long  sigh,  exclaimed  : 

"Well  it  beats  Judas  Iscariot,  by  G — d." 

Brownlow  laughed  till  his  life  was  almost  despaired  of,  but  I  never- 
heard  that  Colonel  Young,  confessedly  good-looking  as  he  is,  enjoyed 
the  joke. 

I  began  this  story  to  illustrate  evils  incident  to  military  govern- 
ment   conducted   with'  a  view  to  moral  rather  than   physical   results.  s 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  127 

Morrisette  and  Leadbetter  proposed  to  achieve  the  conquest  of  East 
Tennessee  by  every  species  of  moral  force,  in  which  the  one  would 
make  a  parade  of  power,  the  other  employing  moral  suasion.  In  both 
instances  there  was  only  a  grand  parade.  Neither  ever  snuffed  the 
breath  of  battle.  When  that  fatal  day  at  Fishing  Creek  dawned  upon 
the  hapless  South,  when  Zollicoffer  fell,  a  part  of  Morrisette 's  battery 
escaped  from  the  wreck,  but  Morrisette  himself  was  still  commanding 
the  fort  and  holding  it  bravely  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away,  at 
Knoxville.  When  those  daring,  adventurous  men  who  were  hanged 
in  Atlanta  seized  the  railway  train  at  Big  Shanty,  below  Chattanooga, 
and  leaving  the  passengers  at  breakfast,  came  north,  tearing  away 
bridges  and  culverts  behind  them  that  General  Mitchell  might  capture 
Chattanooga,  it  being  impossible  to  draw  reinforcements  from  the 
south,  Leadbetter  was  in  Chattanooga  almost  frightened  to  death. 
He  was  never  nearer  the  enemy  or  in  greater  danger  than  on  that 
occasion.  Of  his  conduct  and  of  a  memorable  incident  that  befell  the 
ragged  town  of  that  day  the  reader  has  been  informed. 

But  Morrisette  and  Leadbetter  in  Knoxville  finally  grew  weary  of 
inaction.  The  latter  found  the  task  of  ceaseless  administration  of 
oaths  of  loyalty  tiresome.  The  people  had  already  pronounced  it 
exceedingly  monotonous.  Morrisette' s  battery — that  portion  of  it 
which  did  not  accompany  Crittenden  and  Zollicoffer  to  Fishing 
Creek — when  it  went  rattling  and  roaring  along  the  stony  streets  of 
Knoxville,  no  longer  attracted  the  slightest  attention.  In  this  des- 
perate condition  of  affairs,  Morrisette  planned  a  grand  expedition 
into  Chucky  Valley.  Along  the  little  river  of  this  name,  were  pretty 
farms  and  delightful  homes.  Here,  in  Washington  County,  David 
Crockett  was  born,  and  the  people  were  devoted  to  the  "old 
flag." 

They  had  never  seen  the  new,  and  loved  the  Federal  Union  as  our 
fathers  made  it.  They  were  sons  and  grandsons  of  men  who 
fought  at  King's  Mountain  and  Eutaw  Court-House.  Their  prayer 
was  to  be  let  alone.  They  were  unwilling-  to  fight  their  neighbors 
and  kindred  and  had  pledged  themselves,  in  private  conversations  at 
methodist  and  baptist  meeting-houses,  never  to  strike  down  the  stars 
and  stripes.  In  every  house  there  was  Weems'  ' '  Life  of  Washington, ' ' 
Jefferson's  "Notes  on  Virginia,"  the  National  Intelligencer,  and 
Brownlow's  Whig.  Morrisette  and  Leadbetter  had  often  been  told  of 
the  charms  of  Chucky  Valley  and  of  the  devout  Unionism  of  the 
people.  The  two  Confederate  chieftains,  wielding  absolute  power  in 
East  Tennessee,  conferred  secretly  about  it.  With  profound  solem- 
nity and  injunctions  of  secrecy,  they  held  several  councils  of  war. 
They  consulted  Lieutenant  Colonel  Hugh  Green,  the  rollicking,  fun- 
loving  leader  of  a  half-drilled,  half-armed  regiment  encamped  at 
Knoxville.  All,  for  one  or  another  reason,  approved  the  grand 
scheme  of  Morrisette  and  Leadbetter,  and  it  was  agreed  to  show  the 
innocent  dwellers  along  the  banks  of  the  bright  and  brawling  Chucky 
how   great   and   powerful   was    the    mighty   Richmond    government. 


128  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

Chucky  Valley  would  thenceforth  be  ashamed  that  it  had  dreamed  of 
resistance  to  the  authority  of  Jefferson  Davis. 

Bill  Carter  was  from  Nashville.  He  was  brave.  He  had  fought 
many  battles,  in  each  of  which  he  fell,  but  rose  again,  only  to  fall 
whenever  he  met  his  mortal  enemy.  Whiskey  slew  him  at  last  in  a 
frightful  conflict  that  occurred  in  Knoxville.  Bill  was  found  dead  one 
morning  in  the  gutter,  his  eyes  bloodshot,  hair  matted,  clothes  in 
tatters,  and  shoes,  like  those  who  gave  him  whiskey,  soleless.  He  was 
reared  a  lawyer  and  thoroughly  educated.  He  was  the  only  child  of 
his  parents,  inherited  a  good  estate,  and  won  a  beautiful  wife.  Five 
years  afterward,  Bill  was  a  beggar  and  his  wife  soon  happily  divorced 
by  Bill's  death. 

Meanwhile,  Bill  was  General  Crittenden's  orderly.  Crittenden 
loved  Bill  for  his  weaknesses  as  well  as  wit.  There  were  broad  realms 
of  sympathy  in  which  they  met.  Both  worshipped  Bacchus.  Bill 
was  uglier  than  this  god,  who  had  distorted  Bill's  features.  A  horse 
had  kicked  and  broken  the  lower  maxillary  bone  on  one  side  of  his 
face,  and  a  drunken  Patlander  had  fractured  the  same  bone  on  the 
other,  and  the  two  sides  of  this  jaw-bone  had  been  separated  from  one 
another  until  the  lower  part  of  Bill's  face  was  a  foot  wide.  His  long 
nose  was  pressed  upward  by  toothless  gums.  He  ate  with  difficulty 
and,  therefore,  drank  enormously.  But  he  talked  well  and  wittily. 
The  slightest  provocation  to  mirth  emanating  from  a  hairy  turtle  set  up 
on  end  would  surely  provoke  infinite  laughter,  and  Bill's  face  had 
been  compressed  and  widened  till  one  always  had  visions  of  turtle 
soup  while  Bill  poured  forth  the  contents  of  an  exhaustless  vocabulary. 
Bill,  in  Crittenden's  absence,  had  attached  himself,  as  a  sort  of  vol- 
unteer aide-de-camp,  to  Morrisette.  In  fact  I  heard  him  telling  Mor- 
risette,  with  great  solemnity  that  he  would  be  his  Sancho  Panza  in  the 
coming  Chucky  campaign. 

Lieutenant  Colonel  Hugh  Green  had  about  six  hundred  good  men. 
Of  these  Leadbetter  took  command.  Leadbetter  insisted  that  he  must 
have  artillery.  Morrisette,  giving  him  two  brass  six-pounders,  had 
four  left,  in  charge  of  about  one  hundred  men.  They  moved  slowly 
across  the  country  from  Morristown,  firing  morning  and  evening 
guns.  The  roar  of  artillery,  both  commanders  insisted,  exercised  a 
fine  "moral  effect"  upon  a  rebellious  people. 

It  may  be  proper  to  state  that  I  did  not  participate  in  this  most 
eventful  and  disastrous  campaign.  I  am  indebted  for  the  facts  to 
memoranda  made  by  Morrisette  and  to  recitals  of  those  who  returned 
safely  to  Knoxville. 

Having  reached  the  seat  of  war,  Morrisette  followed  the  course  of 
the  River,  while  Leadbetter  marched  on  a  parallel  and  converging 
line  three  miles  from  the  stream.  Morrisette  moved  along  the  base  of 
mountainous  precipices  next  to  the  river,  the  shining  guns  reflected  in 
its  crystal  waters.  Leadbetter  and  Lieutenant  Colonel  Green,  on  steeds 
splendidly  caparisoned,  and  in  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of 
glorious  war,  went  careering  across  the  country.     They  were  stared  at 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  129 

by  women,  and  unkempt,  wondering  children.  Fearing  conscription, 
the  men  of  the  country,  it  was  observed  by  the  leaders  of  the  expe- 
dition, were  never  visible.  It  was  concluded  at  first  that  they  had 
fled  into  the  mountains;  and,  secondly,  that  an  attack  by  night  upon 
the  forces  of  the  Confederacy  was  contemplated  by  the  innocent 
country  bumpkins  of  Chucky  Valley. 

Soon  after  the  sun  went  down,  the  moon,  full-orbed,  came  up  in 
gorgeous  glory.  The  air  is  clearer  in  East  Tennessee — bereft  of 
moisture,  as  it  is,  by  mountains  on  every  hand — than  elsewhere  in  the 
United  States.  It  may  be  as  transparent  for  like  reasons  in  Western 
Texas  and  Southern  Colorado,  but  the  stars  are  brighter  and  the  moon 
shines  more  lustrously  down  into  the  valleys  and  gilds  the  hills,  and 
sheds  a  softer,  sweeter  radiance  upon  the  rivers  of  East  Tennessee, 
investing  mountains  and  valleys  with  a  diviner  splendor,  than  elsewhere 
in  America.  When  moon  and  stars  were  borne  away  on  bounding, 
sparkling  waves  of  the  boisterous  river,  Morrisette,  unconsciously 
charmed  by  the  scene  and  wedded  to  the  spot,  turned  majestically  in 
his  saddle  and  ordered  a  halt.  The  air  of  November  was  cold,  clear, 
and  crisp,  and  the  soldiers  soon  lighted  fires  along  the  perpendicular 
banks  of  the  rapid  river.  Twenty  feet  away  the  mountains  rose  up 
precipitously,  almost  overhanging  the  stream.  In  the  next  valley, 
two  and  a  half  miles  distant,  Leadbetter  and  Green  had  encamped. 
It  soon  occurred  to  Morrisette,  who  sat  like  Agamemnon,  gloomily 
in  his  tent,  that  he  had  selected  unwisely  a  spot  for  his  resting  place. 
"Lincolnites,"  as  adherents  of  the  Union  were  termed  in  the  vulgar 
partisan  jargon  of  the  time,  might  readily  overwhelm  him  and  even 
crush  his  beautiful  brass  field-pieces  by  rolling  stones  down  the  mountain 
sides.  A  bird,  disturbed  by  the  flames  in  the  valley,  rose  out  of  its 
nest,  and  countless  stones,  their  number  growing  as  they  descended, 
almost  overwhelmed  Morrisette's  pretty  tent.  He  could  not  sleep. 
That  Leadbetter  might  know  where  he  was,  he  ordered  a  field-piece 
to  be  discharged. 

The  concussion  shook  the  hills,  and  countless  stones  came  leaping 
into  the  valley.  Leadbetter,  inferring  that  Morrisette  was  assailed, 
fired  his  guns  that  the  enemy  might  be  aware  of  his  presence  and 
power.  Morrisette's  guns  responded;  and  thus,  in  the  solemn,  still, 
bright  November  night  of  186 1,  was  the  "Campaign  of  Moral  Effects" 
signalized  by  furious  cannonading  in  the  silent,  happy  valley  of 
Chucky.  The  listening  people,  thinking  the  rebels  amused  themselves 
wasting  gunpowder,  slept  well.  But  Morrisette  and  Leadbetter  were 
thoroughly  alarmed.  Each  believed  the  other  involved  in  a  desperate 
conflict,  and  both  fired  away  furiously.  At  length  each  was  silent 
that  he  might  hear  from  the  other  and  profound  stillness  rested  upon 
river,  mountains,  and  valley. 

It  was  after  midnight  when  Morrisette's  soldiers  slept  nervously 
beside  camp  fires  and  guns.  He  himself  was  haunted  by  the  demon 
of  unrest.  He  was  not  satisfied  that  bushwhackers  were  not  hidden 
among  the  stunted  cedars  and  great  stones  on  mountain  sides  above 


130  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

his  head.     His  nerves  were  unstrung,  and  he  wandered  forth  to  assure 
himself  that  sentinels  were  at  their  posts. 

He  had  seen  the  one  most  distant  from  his  encampment  and  was 
coming  away  when  he  heard  the  voice  of  Bill  Carter.  He  stopped 
and  saw  Carter  proffer  a  canteen  to  the  sentinel.  The  musket 
dropped,  the  canteen  was  eloquent,  and  Carter  and  the  sentinel  silent. 
Carter's  canteen  thus  gave  the  countersign.  He  entered,  having  a 
dozen  like  it  filled  with  whiskey  and  brandy  distilled  in  the  mountains. 
Carter  was  heavily  freighted,  too,  with  fowls.  Morrisette  watched 
him  as  he  staggered  into  the  encampment.  He  reeled  along  and 
soon  slept  soundly  beside  a  glowing  camp  fire.  An  orderly  named 
Villere  was  dispatched  to  Carter's  resting  place  with  instructions  to 
empty  the  canteens,  otherwise  half  of  the  command  would  become 
intoxicated  before  breakfast.  Villere,  finding  Carter  asleep,  baptised 
him  and  the  chickens  in  whiskey  and  brandy.  Carter's  clothes,  hair, 
and  whiskers  were  thoroughly  saturated. 

Villere  and  his  master  at  last  rested,  and  Carter  slept  profoundly. 

Carter's  baptised  birds  were  not  comfortable.  They  fluttered  about 
the  fire,  and  at  length,  blue  flames  danced  over  one  and  then  another 
of  the  frightened,  roasting  poultry,  fastened  to  Carter  by  cords  that 
confined  their  legs.  Lambent  blue  lights  danced  at  last  over  his 
garments  and  played  over  his  thick,  heavy  hair  and  whiskers.  He 
screamed,  rose  up,  blinded,  frightened,  and  dumfounded.  Each 
chicken  was  a  fluttering  great  blue  torch-light,  and  a  column  of  blue 
flame  rose  far  above  Carter's  head.  He  shrieked  and  ran  blindly 
along  the  river's  edge.  Sentinels  fired  their  guns.  Every  man  was 
on  his  feet. 

The  devil,  robed  in  flames,  fresh  from  abodes  of  the  damned,  was 
before  their  eyes.  Carter's  senses  partially  restored,  he  leaped  into 
the  river.  But  the  encampment  was  "stampeded."  Everybody 
sought  to  be  first  to  escape  from  the  infernal  presence.  Morrisette 
and  Villere  alone  knew  that  Carter,  wrapped  in  flickering  blue  flames 
of  alcohol,  innocently  personated  the  Evil  One.  There  was  no  time 
for  explanations.  "The  devil  take  the  hindmost,"  was  the  literal 
impulse  that  moved  Morrisette's  unlettered  command.  It  was  hope- 
lessly dispersed.  All  efforts  to  rally  the  discomfited  soldiery  were 
unavailing. 

When  straggling  soldiers  of  the  dispersed  battery,  engaged  in  the 
grand  "Campaign  of  Moral  Effects,"  came  in  pairs  and  trios,  ragged, 
hungry,  and  foot-sore,  into  Knoxville,  I  enquired  eagerly  for  news 
from  their  noble  commander.     His  soldiers  were  unwilling  to  talk. 

"Where  is  your  captain?  Where  is  your  battery?  What  has 
been  the  fate  of  the  military  expedition?"  the  first  ever  organized 
without  the  remotest  design  of  hurting  anybody. 

I  finally  induced  a  moody,  silent  Irishman  who  had  utterly 
refused  to  talk,  to  accompany  me  to  my  private  apartment.  I  gave 
him  a  gill  of  whiskey,  and  promising  another,  asked  him  what  had 
happened. 


.FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  131 

The  Irishman's  face  wore  an  aspect  of  profound  melancholy.  I 
had  never  before  seen,  outside  of  the  confessional,  a  truly  solemn 
Irishman.  But,  wiping  his  lips  with  his  sleeve,  and  with  wide  open 
eyes,  Mike  said : 

"  Captain,  we  won't  talk  because  nobody  will  belave  us ;  but  may  the 
divel  saze  me  if  I  didn't  see  him,  wid  eyes  like  braziers,  breathing 
blue  flames  as  he  rose  up  out  of  the  earth.  He  sazed  the  captain  and 
ran  away  wid  him,  and  laped  into  the  river  wid  him,  and  the  water 
biled.  He  shook  the  mountain,  and  stones  and  trees  fell  clown  upon 
us.  Nobody  but  these  you  see  here  got  away.  Our  guns  and  horses 
are  all  gone.  The  divel  flew  away  wid  'em.  The  men  fired  at  him, 
and  bullets  made  holes  through  him,  but  he  walked  away  all  the  same 
down  the  river  and  laped  in  at  last,  as  I  was  tellin'  ye." 

I  asked  Mike  if  it  were  possible  that  a  campaign  planned  to  produce 
"grand  moral  effects"  had  ended  in  a  disgraceful  drunken  debauch. 

Mike  answered  that  there  was  not  a  drunken  soldier  in  Chucky 
Valley. 

I  sent  Mike  for  his  associates  in  flight.  They  came  and  con- 
curred in  all  that  he  had  said.  Each  had  seen  a  gigantic  figure, 
clothed  in  blue  flames,  countless  little  angelic  devils  fluttering  about 
it,  rise  out  of  the  earth,  shake  the  everlasting  hills,  and  disappear 
in  the  blue  waves  of  Chucky  River.  I  was  puzzled.  Twelve  sane, 
sober  men,  each  examined  separately,  testified,  with  profound 
earnestness  and  unwillingly,  to  the  same  extraordinary  facts.  These 
men  never  dreaming  of  desertion  came  as  frightened  fugitives  from  a 
terrible  battle  field.  The  Irishman  was  not  free  from  superstition. 
His  religion  was  mystical  and  vague,  as  well  as  formal  and  ceremonial. 
He  was  heard  to  say  that  if  the  devil  was  with  the  South,  he  would  go 
north.  He  soon  crossed  the  mountains,  and  afterward,  in  fighting 
the  South,  never  doubted,  I  imagine,  that  he  was  "whackin"  the 
devil  that  appeared  in  Chucky  Valley. 

Some  weeks  elapsed,  after  the  return  of  Leadbetter  and  Morrisette 
with  the  wreck  of  their  demoralized  forces,  before  any  demonstration 
of  military  ardor  was  made.  Leadbetter  was  less  vehement  and  less 
active  and  earnest  in  administering  oaths  of  loyalty  than  when 
planning  the  Chucky  campaign.  Morrisette's  vanity  had  been  sorely 
wounded.  The  people  would  talk  and  laugh.  Bill  Carter  would 
pretend  to  be  very  drunk,  and  hairless  and  whiskerless  as  he  was,  his 
face  terribly  scarred  by  flames  of  alcohol  that  almost  consumed  his 
life,  sauntered  about  head-quarters,  reciting  criticisms  he  heard  in 
bar-rooms.  Bill  was  the  great  sufferer.  He  was,  too,  the  innocent 
cause  of  the  utter  discomfiture  and  dissolution  of  Morrisette's  com- 
mand. He  hated  Morrisette  because  he  had  ordered  Villere  to  empty 
the  whiskey-filled  canteens.  He  had  witnessed  the  flight  of  Morris- 
ette's terrified  men.  Though  he  had  been  painfully,  and  even 
dangerously  burned  and  thoroughly  frightened,  he  comprehended  and 
enjoyed  the  supreme  absurdity  of  the  expedition.  He  sat  many 
nights,    surrounded   by   half-drunken   listeners,   telling  with    infinite 


1 32  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

delight,  of  the  marvelous  "Campaign  of  Moral  Effects."  Everybody 
in  Knoxville  had  laughed  again  and  again  when  Bill  Carter,  as  chief 
of  staff  and  Morrisette's  Sancho  Panza,  recounted  the  story  of  absurd 
adventures.  Morrisette  knew  all  this,  and  for  a  time  shrank  from 
public  gaze.  Leadbetter  was  moody,  violent,  and  silent.  But  the 
pair  of  heroes  finally  talked  the  matter  over.  They  had  heard  of 
Bill  Carter's  eloquent  descriptions  of  the  overthrow  of  the  battery 
and  discussed  the  propriety  of  having  Carter  consigned  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  Fox,  the  jailor. 

But  this  would  not  silence  Carter.  He  must  be  shot  or  conciliated. 
Pacific  measures  were  preferred,  and  Carter  was  supplied  with  whiskey, 
ad  libitum.  He  advised  Morrisette  to  put  on  a  bold  face  and  show 
that  he  was  unaffected  by  the  absurd  disaster.  The  result  was  that  a 
grand  dress  parade  was  ordered  for  the  next  Sunday. 

It  came,  a  cold  December  morning,  when  church  bells  were  ringing 
and  people,  arrayed  in  the  finery  of  peace,  already  fading  in  the 
presence  of  war,  were  going  in  pairs  along  the  sunny  streets.  Morris- 
ette's battery,  guns,  caissons,  horses,  and  men  rattled  and  roared  over 
the  stony  roadway  from  the  hills  in  the  suburbs  down  into  the  valley, 
ascending  Gay  Street  into  Knoxville. 

Idlers  in  throngs  sauntered  leisurely  along  the  side-walks  while 
Morrisette,  glittering  with  gold  lace  and  bestriding  his  gaily  capar- 
isoned war  horse,  led  the  gorgeous1  column. 

It  was  a  sad  day  for  Morrisette.  It  was  long  to  be  remembered  by 
many  dwellers  in  Knoxville.  He  led  the  battery  toward  University 
Place,  and  turning  to  re-enter  Gay  Street,  a  caisson,  filled  with  gun- 
powder and  shells  exploded.  What  caused  the  disaster  no  one  ever 
knew.  All  the  shells  were  not  exploded  at  once,  but  forced  in  all 
directions,  at  intervals  hurled  fragments'  of  iron  into  the  air  and  into 
houses.  Morrisette's  men  fled,  as,  not  long  before,  in  Chucky  Valley. 
The  battery  was  again  dissolved.  Artillerymen  leaped  from  horses 
and  from  ammunition  chests  and  hurried  away.  Morrisette,  over- 
come, as  he  afterward  explained,  by  "grief"  and  "rage,"  dismounted 
and  in  a  private  residence  found  relief  in  whiskey.  Two  men  and 
four  horses  were  killed  and  many  persons  injured,  while  Morrisette 
was  so  unnerved  that  he  was  unable  to  bestride  his  steed. 

He  had  enlisted  only  £or  a  year,  and  his  term  of  service  expiring  in 
1862,  he  retired  to  private  life. 

Poor  Bill !  His  hair  and  whiskers  had  been  burned  off  by  flames 
of  alcohol  in  Chucky  Valley.  His  eyelids  hideously  red,  he  was  of 
horrible  aspect.  Men  gave  him  money  to  induce  him  to  leave  their 
presence.  It  was  painful  to  look  upon  him,  and  therefore  was  he 
supplied  with  means  of  endless  inebriety.  The  end  came,  as  I  have 
stated,  and  Bill,  not  long  afterward,  died  in  the  gutter. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


The  Newspaper  Man  Tells  of  Recent  Designations  of  the  Route  of  De  Soto. — His 
Apothecary's  Scales  and  Nest  of  Horseshoes. — The  Monk's  Rosary. — Governor 
Gilmer's  Castilian  Dagger  Handle. — Outline  of  De  Soto's  Route  Defined. — 
His  Burial  Place. 

"A  taste  for  archaeological  inquiries  was  rapidly  developed,  even  in 
this  country,  until  Dickens  ridiculed  its  devotees  mercilessly  and  suc- 
cessfully in  his  Pickwick  Papers ;  but  gentlemen  of  taste,  learning,  and 
leisure,  like  Alexander  B.  Meek,  Benj.  F.  Porter,  Joseph  B.  Cobb, 
and  especially  the  late  Governor  and  United  States  Senator  from  this 
State,  George  R.  Gilmer,  were  devoted  to  the  prosecution  of  inquiries 
affecting  primeval  dwellers  in  America.  I  was  reading  a  paragraph 
to-day,"  said  the  journalist,  "in  the  Tallahassee  (Fla. )  Sentinel,  that  tells 
of  the  discovery,  two  miles  from  that  city,  of  a  Spanish  horseman's 
heavy  spur.  On  either  side  of  the  rowel,  an  inch  and  a  half  in  diameter, 
little  bells  dangled.  Such  spurs  are  still  used  in  Mexico,  and,  I  pre- 
sume, in  Spain.  More  recently  a  farmer  plowing  in  the  field,  and 
near  the  spot  at  which  the  spur  was  found,  unearthed  a  solid,  shape- 
less mass,  which  proved  to  be  a  bronze  s\irrup,  of  heavy,  ancient 
pattern.  It  is  as  massive,  relatively,  as  the  spur.  This  stirrup  was 
firmly  imbedded  in  the  ground,  and  thick  coatings  of  rust  enveloped 
it.  Raised  figures  on  the  stirrup  still  stood  out  in  strong  relief.  Its 
sides  are  Ethiopian  statuettes,  facing  each  other,  and  leaning  for- 
ward till  they  almost  meet.  Their  uplifted  clasped  hands  hold  the 
leathern  strap  that  attached  the  stirrup  to  the  saddle.  The  Florida 
editor  says  :  '  So  unlike  are  both  these  relics  to  anything  known  to 
this  generation,  and,  both  being  found  near  the  same  place,  it  is  not 
unreasonable  to  ascribe  them  to  the  same  era  and  artisan.  Nor  is  the  sup- 
position at  all  improbable  that  one  of  the  knightly  followers  o£  De 
Soto  was  allured  on  through  this  then  unknown  region  and  wilderness, 


i34  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

like  that  dauntless  son  of  Spain,  by  a  thirst  for  yellow  heaps  of 
gleaming  gold  that  loomed  up  ahead  of  them  in  vain  visions  and 
heated  fancies,  Here  he  fell  a  victim  to  the  tomahawk  and  scalping- 
knife  of  the  wronged  and  revengeful  red  man;  and,  no.  doubt,  some 
one  of  the  "Tallahassee  Tribe,"  of  which  "Tiger  Tail  "  claimed  to 
be  a  descendant,  boasted,  as  he  displayed  at  his  belt  a  yet  bloody 
scalp,  that  he  had  here  killed  a  pale-face.' 

"Beyond  the  fact  that  trifling  discoveries  of  this  character  define 
with  a  share  of  probable  accuracy  the  route  of  De  Soto,  they  have 
little  value,  and  yet  to  such  an  extent  is  the  taste  for  the  old  and 
curious  indulged,  that  I  am  told  I  cannot  secure  this  old  stirrup  and 
spur  save  at  great  cost.  My  purpose  was  to  send  models  of  them  to 
Castelar,  the  Spanish  scholar  and  statesman,  that  he  might  discover 
when  and  where  such  spurs  and  stirrups  were  manufactured.  We 
should  not  forget,  while  noting  the  spot  at  which  such  remains  of  De 
Soto  are  found,  that  Indians  may  have  stolen  and  lost  this  property  of 
Spaniards,  and  it  is  not  impossible  that  some  Floridian,  who  served  in 
the  Mexican  war  of  1846-47,  may  have  brought  the  spur  and  stirrup 
from  Mexico.  Are  there  such  evidences  of  decay  that  this  supposi- 
tion cannot  be  well  founded? 

"After  Governor  Gilmer  had  served  many  years  in  each  branch  of  the 
United  States  Congress,  he  devoted  his  old  age  to  the  perfection  of 
an  archaeological  and  mineralogical  cabinet.  When  a  boy,  I  was  often 
at  his  attractive  home  in  the  ancient  village  of  Lexington,  Georgia. 
The  Spanish  consul  at  Charleston  visited  the  venerable  statesman, 
who  was  not  well  enough  to  designate  for  the  stranger  the  wonders  of 
the  cabinet.  Of  this  I  was  telling  the  curious  Spaniard  all  I  knew, 
when  he  stopped  me  suddenly,  and  holding  up  a  blood-red,  beautiful 
carnelian  between  his  fingers,  asked  whence  it  came.  I  had  heard 
Governor  Gilmer  tell  that  it  was  plowed  up  by  a  negro  in  a  field  near 
Macon,  Georgia.  I  remembered,  too,  that  the  governor  had  paid  ten 
dollars  for  the  stone  and  an  old  musket  stock  found  about  the  same 
time,  near  the  same  spot.  The  stone  was  perforated  longitudinally. 
Its  length  was  about  five  and  a  half  or  six  inches,  and  its  transverse 
diameter  about  one  and  a  half  inches.  The  stone  was  very  beautiful, 
but  Governor  Gilmer  had  no  conception  of  its.  design  as  shaped,  or  of 
its  value.  He  often  wondered  why  it  was  so  deftly  carved  and  what  old 
race  of  artisans  did  this  cunning  work.  He  said  it  was  strange  that 
such  an  old-fashioned  musket  stock  had  been  unearthed  near  the  same 
spot. 

"  'This,'  said  the  Spaniard,  as  I  conducted  him  to  Governor  Gilmer's 
private  apartment,  '  is  a  Castilian  dagger  handle.  Very  few  were 
ever  made.  Noblemen  of  Spain  wore  them  there  four  hundred  years 
ago.'  Brilliant  light,  in  Governor  Gilmer's  eyes,  fell  from  the  Span- 
iard's lips  upon  the  pretty  carnelian.  It  shone  with  lustrous  glory  as  the 
stranger  held  it  in  the  bright  sunbeams  falling  through  the  open  win- 
dow, and  flooding  the  apartment.  The  gleaming  stone  became  as 
eloquent  as  beautiful,  and  Governor  Gilmer  deemed  it  invaluable.     It 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  135 

may  not  be  improper  to  say  that  a  few  years  ago  I  caused  the  cabinet  of 
Governor  Gilmer,  now  the  property  of  the  University  of  Georgia,  at 
Athens,  to  be  examined  by  Mrs.  General  King,  of  Chalky  Level,  that  I 
might  photograph  the  stone  and  publish  its  history  in  Harper's 
Monthly.  The  carnelian  dagger  handle  had  disappeared.  It  could 
not  be  used  or  exposed  in  this  country.  There  is  not  another  like  it. 
Is  it  not  barely  probable  that  it  finally  found  its  way,  through  Charles- 
ton, back  to  Spain  ?  Though  I  was  a  little  boy  at  the  time,  I  remem- 
ber how  eagerly  that  courtly  gentleman,  the  Spanish  consul,  with 
his  great  lustrous  black  eyes  devoured  that  brilliant  stone.  But  any 
rude  soldier  of  this  dreary  age  would  have  deported  such  a  carnelian 
for  its  beauty  and  uniqueness. 

"  From  old  books  gathered  in  the  admirably  well-selected  and  costly 
library  of  the  University  of  Alabama,  of  about  150,000  volumes,  I  had 
gathered  a  share  of  information  affecting  religious  creeds  and  '  super- 
stitions,' as  we  are  pleased  to  term  them,  of  Oriental  peoples.*  I  had 
read  of  the  crude  faith  that  clings  everywhere  to  the  horseshoe  as  an 
emblem  of  good  fortune.  Our  ancestors,  as  do  we,  through  many 
centuries,  persisted  in  hanging  old  horseshoes  over  gateways.  Lord 
Nelson  sailed  into  the  battle  of  the  Nile  with  a  horseshoe  nailed  to 
the  masthead  of  his  ship.  Recently,  the  vague,  undefined  superstition 
has  gathered  fresh  vigor,  Young  gentlemen,  strangely  enough,  have 
scarf  pins  fashioned  after  horseshoes,  Fairest  dames,  more  wonder- 
fully, knowing  not  what  they  do,  deck  miniature  horseshoes  with 
brightest  jewels,  worn  as  amulets.  Old  horseshoes,  found  in  the 
highway,  are  gilded  with  gold  and  suspended  over  mantels  in  fashion- 
able salons  of  wealth  and  taste.  Hindu  maidens  originally  set  the 
example.  They  have  muttered  prayers,  through  many  centuries, 
looking  to  the  horseshoe  as  the  vehicle  of  supreme  delights.  Who  can 
tell  in  what  facts  the  vague,  but  universally  accepted  superstition  had 
■origin?  What  does  it  signify,  and  what  is  this  significance?  The 
Eastern  and  Asian  origin  of  the  Irish  race  has  been  asserted,  because 
Irishmen  are  especially  addicted  to  that  faith  in  the  capacity  of  old 
horseshoes  to  ward  off  evil  which  obtained  among  Phcenecians  every- 
where in  the  Orient.  It  was  not  a  horseshoe,  as  such,  that  won, 
originally,  this  superstitious  regard.  But  the  horseshoe  either  repre- 
sented the  crescent  moon  or  probably  symbolized  that  depraved  nature- 
worship  practiced  by  devotees  of  Siva  in  Hindustan.  I  saw  Spratling 
pluck  a  worn-out  horseshoe  from  its  deep  burial  place  in  the  roadway 
only  yesterday,  and  carefully  suspend  it  from  the  body  of  the  oak 
beneath  which  he  slept.  He  said  his  father  did  such  things,  and  he 
only  followed  in  his  footsteps. 

"But  all  this  is  simply  a  prelude  to  an  account  of  two  discoveries, 

*Soon  after  the  date  of  conversations  here  recited,  the  University  of  Ala- 
bama, with  all  its  costly  structures,  observatory,  dormitories,  professor's  residences, 
and  the  old  Roman  pantheon,  containing  the  library,  was  destroyed  by  fire.  The 
torch  was  applied  by  the  specific  orders  of  a  commanding  general. 


136  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

supposed    to  define  De  Soto's   route  from   Florida  to  Arkansas  and 
Texas. 

"William  Richardson  is  an  old  and  intelligent  citizen  of  Pickens 
County,  in  Eastern  Alabama.  Plowing  in  his  field  along  an  old  road- 
way, not  many  miles  from  the  little  village  of  Yorkville,  and,  perhaps, 
twenty  miles  east  of  Columbus,  Mississippi,  he  unearthed  a  package  of 
twelve  rust-eaten  horseshoes.  They  were  superimposed  upon  one 
another  in  the  edge  of  this  old  roadway  which  was  used  at  some 
period  and  by  some  race  before  Mr.  Richardson  was  born,  and  before 
his  farm  was  cleared  and  cultivated.  I  have  what  is  left,  by  the 
corroding  tooth  of  time,  of  one  of  these  horseshoes.  It  is  quite  one- 
half  broader  than  a  modern  horseshoe.  It  had  no  'heel'  and  no 
groove  or  depression  for  the  heads  of  the  nails.  We  are  not  told  by 
any  chronicler  of  De  Soto's  wanderings  and  battles  how  his  horses 
were  shod  or  that  he  brought  horseshoes  from  Europe  and  I  am 
curious  to  know  whether  horseshoes  of  this  description  were  made 
three  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  in  Spain.  Since  Indians  never  shod 
ponies,  and  no  army  ever  invaded  Pickens  County,  and  these  iron 
platings  were  designed  for  the  hoofs  of  the  largest  horses  and  not  for 
Indian  ponies,  and  Mr.  Richardson  and  his  neighbors  were  always 
puzzled  about  the  origin  of  the  queer  old  rust-eaten  horseshoes.  Dr. 
Alexander  Agnew,  a  gentleman  of  singular  learning  and  literary 
taste,  living  in  Richardson's  neighborhood,  carefully  preserved  the 
'relic'  which  I  have.  It  gained  value  in  his  eyes  when  he  learned 
that  in  the  same  old  roadway  several  miles  west  of  Richardson's  and 
near  the  village  of  Yorkville,  another  discovery  had  been  made  which 
shed  light  upon  the  mystery  attached  to  the  horseshoes  and  to  the 
origin  of  the  'old  road.'  Indians  made  no  roads,  only  'paths,'  and 
yet  here  was  a  road  evidently  carved  out  as  a  wagon -way,  its  outlines 
perpetuated  by  rain-falls  along  the  hill-sides,  in  primeval  forests  and 
beside  this  old  road,  at  the  foot  of  a  hill,  and  at  a  bright,  sparkling 
spring,  perhaps  seven  or  eight  miles  from  Richardson's  farm,  a  pair  of 
apothecary's  scales  were  found.  A  great  chestnut  tree  was  blown 
down,  shown  by  consecutive  rings  of  annual  production  to  have  been 
more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  old.  It  had  drawn  its  life 
from  the  fountain  of  which  I  tell,  and  fell  that  a  thirsty  farmer  might 
find  the  scales,  guarded  through  centuries  beneath  its  roots.  The 
scales  themselves  and  the  weights,  having  on  them  Spanish  inscriptions 
and  numerals  naming  the  King  of  Spain  and  the  Pope  of  the  period, 
and  dated,  if  I  remember  accurately,  1534,  had  rested  two  and  three 
feet  below  the  earth's  surface,  and  below  the  great  tree,  from  the  day 
the  thirsty  Spanish  pharmaceutist,  who  accompanied  De  Soto,  drank, 
and  ate  chestnuts  at  this  spot.  The  tree  sprang  up.  Its  roots  covered 
and  guarded  the  scales  till  the  tempest  overthrew  this  monarch  of  the 
forest.  The  farmer,  Mr.  Alexander,  who  discovered  the  scales,  took 
one  of  the  weights  to  Carrollton,  the  capital  of  Pickens  County,  that 
the  inscription  might  be  translated.  A  Mexican  war  veteran  said  that 
the  words  were  Spanish  and  that  it  was  very  strange  that  implements 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  137 

of  druggists'  art,  as  old  as  these,  should  be  found  in  such  a  spot.  It 
never  occurred  to  him  that  De  Soto's  followers  lost  the  scales  and  thus 
designated  a  point  in  his  route  to  the  Mississippi.  It  can  hardly  be 
supposed  that  the  Indians  stole  or  seized  in  battle  and  lost  both  the 
horseshoes  and  the  apothocary's  scales  found  so  near  the  same  spot, 
and  I  have  ever  believed,  since  I  became  conversant  with  the  facts 
here  recited,  that  De  Soto  passed  through  Pickens  County  and  crossed 
the  Tombecbee,  of  which  his  chroniclers  tell,  at  Barton,  a  little 
village  a  few  miles  above  Columbus.  Many  persons  of  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Yorkville  saw  the  scales  and  horseshoes  of  which  I  tell. 
They  gossiped  about  the  inscriptions,  and  this  inter-state  war  came, 
and  when  I  sought,  not  very  long  ago,  to  secure  the  relics,  the  finder 
had  moved  away.  His  grandson,  a  citizen  of  Columbus,  Mississippi, 
wrote  very  recently  that  he  had  not  abandoned  hope  of  their  recovery. 
But  do  not  forget,"  added  the  journalist,  "that  I  have  the  oldest 
horseshoe  in  the  world,  and  that  it  belonged  to  De  Soto.  I  have 
heard  most  intelligent  officers  and  many  soldiers,  since  the  inception 
of  inter-state  hostilities,  and  since  we  began  to  march  over  the 
country  in  all  directions,  ascribe  the  erection  of  the  old  stone  fort 
in  Kentucky,  and  of  that,  more  wonderful,  at  Winchester,  Tennessee, 
to  De  Soto.  General  Bragg  examined  the  ancient  fortress  at  Win- 
chester, and  stated  when  I  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  it,  that  it  was 
constructed  in  accordance  with  the  most  approved  rules  of  the  highest 
military  art,  and  that  with  guns,  even  of  a  century  ago,  it  was 
absolutely  impregnable.  Who  reared  this  massive  structure,  and  who 
carved  out  this  stone  and  lifted  up  those  enduring  walls  and  when  was 
the  mighty  task  accomplished  ?  Great  earthworks,  fortifications,  and 
mounds  in  Eastern  Tennessee  have  been  ignorantly  ascribed  to  De 
Soto  as  their  builder.  He  was  never  in  East  Tennessee,  or  at  Win- 
chester, or  in  Kentucky  and  nobody  pretends  that  red  men  of  our 
time  ever  executed  these  tasks  comparable  with  works  of  highest 
civilization ;  and  I  am  persuaded  that  as  Indians  have  been  valueless 
and  incapable,  since  1492,  when  Columbus  came,  even  so  were  they 
always  averse  to  toil ;  and,  digging  few  graves,  were  addicted  to  no 
species  of  industry.  They  were  always  nomadic  and  homeless  as  the 
Apaches,  Creeks,  and  Sioux,  and  I  have  never  believed  that  any 
Indian  tribe,  except  the  bearded  Natchez,  ever  reared  mounds  like  that 
at  Florence,  Alabama.  The  Natchez  alone  had  beards  like  white  men ; 
and,  claiming  descent  from  white  men,  were  always,  like  the  mound- 
builders,  fire -worshippers.  They  were  most  civilized  of  all  the  red 
race.  They  gave  La  Salle  a  granbl  festival,  sitting  at  tables  covered 
with  buckskin  as  white  as  linen.  They  used  chopsticks,  as  do  Chinese, 
and  Avere  greatly  frightened  when  the  Frenchmen  of  two  hundred 
years  ago  drew  broad,  glittering  knives  from  sheaths  and  thrust  them 
with  food  into  their  mouths.  They  said  their  original  king  and  queen 
came  down  from  the  skies,  and  that  they  were  white ;  that  they  lighted 
the  sacred  fires  on  the  summit  of  the  great  mound  just  below  Natchez 
which  would  burn  while  the  Natchez  were  free,  and  no  longer.     The 


138  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

French  made  the  priests  drunken,  extinguished  the  fires,  the  dispirited 
.Natchez  were  easily  beaten  in  battle,  and  migrated  west,  and  became 
extinct.  These  Natchez  Indians  said  that  their  fathers,  who  may 
have  been  the  moundbuilders,  once  reigned  over  the  whole  continent, 
and  that  the  land,  covered  with  great  cities,  extended,  unbroken  by 
the  sea,  an  infinite  distance  toward  the  east.  There  came  a  great 
convulsion  of  nature,  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  supplanted  their 
sunken  domains  which  had  extended  far  out  into  the  Southern 
Atlantic  towards  Africa. 

"When  Commodore  Maury  surveyed  the  ocean's  bottom  from 
Cuba  towards  the  western  coast  of  Africa,  he  found  abrupt  chasms  and 
shallow  depressions,  and  there  were  those  who  believed  that  sunken 
cities  rested  in  the  ocean's  depths,  and  that  the  Natchez  were  not 
mistaken,  and  that  Solon  and  Diodorus  Siculus  were  not  misled  by 
Egyptian  priests  who  told  them  of  the  sunken  continent,  Atlantis, 
lying  west  of  Africa.  Isn't  it  strange  that  traditional  lore  of  our  red 
men  was  conformed  to  that  communicated  by  Egyptian  priests,  five 
hundred  years  before  Christ,  to  the  Greek  philosopher?  Plutarch  tells 
the  story  in  his  life  of  Solon. 

"If  you  would  listen  and  know  what  I  think  about  it,"  continued  the 
newspaper  man,  "I  would  designate  upon  the  map  the  route  of  De 
Soto,  as  I  have  defined  it.  We  are  constantly  marching  blindly  over 
the  country,  and  it  invests  one's  movements  with  peculiar,  intelligent 
interest,  if  we  may  read  the  history  of  men  and  battles  of  a  former  age 
in  geographical  facts.  That  we  may  not  err  and  ascribe  to  the  Spanish 
hero  the  works  of  primeval  races  found  almost  everywhere  in  America, 
I  will  give  you  a  succinct  definition  of  the  route  pursued  by  the  heroic 
Spaniard.  I  was  reading,  even  in  Smithsonian  papers,  the  grave 
statement  that  De  Soto  reared  those  skillfully  constructed  ancient 
fortifications,  described  by  Edwin  M.  Grant,  in  Eastern  Tennessee. 
The  story  was  once  told  that  De  Soto  built  the  great  mounds  at  Birm- 
ingham, Alabama,  and  opened  the  tunnel  as  a  means  of  underground 
communication,  said  by  the  people  of  the  vicinity,  when  Lord  Lyell 
was  there  in  1846,  to  connect  the  mounds  with  the  spring,  three 
hundred  yards  distant.  The  greater  Birmingham  mound  is  a  parallel- 
ogram having  an  area  of  more  than  an  acre  on  its  summit.  It  is 
lifted  up  fifty  or  sixty  feet  above  the  valley  in  which  Birmingham  rests 
idly  in  the  sunshine  between  mountain  ranges  five  miles  apart,  of  coal 
on  the  one  hand  and  of  iron  on  the  other,  each  stratum  thirty  feet  in 
thickness.  I  visited  the  place,  when  a  boy,  with  'Mr.'  Lyell,  the 
English  geologist,  but  gave  little  attention  to  peculiar  facts  now  dis- 
cussed. I  only  know  that  there  is  nothing  in  books  or  in  the 
peculiarities  of  the  ancient  earth-works  at  Birmingham  to  induce  the 
belief  that  De  Soto  visited  the  spot.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  suggest 
the  reflection  that,  as  these  greatest  mounds  commonly  designate 
centers  of  moundbuilders'  wealth  and  population,  so,  in  our  time,  they 
mark  sites  of  most  prosperous  town  and  cities,  and  we  may  yet  dis- 
cover evidences  of  the  use  of  coal  and  iron  which  must  have  attracted 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  139 

primeval  inhabitants  of  the  continent,  if  they  used  these  minerals,  to 
the  beautiful  valley  in  which  Birmingham  reposes.  Whether  they  did 
or  not,  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  the  site  of  each  great  city  in  the 
valley  of  the  Mississippi  was  designated  for  our  race  by  great  mounds, 
showing  that  the  same  commercial  laws  and  facts  begat  aggregations 
of  wealth  and  population  in  the  moundbuilders'  age  as  in  ours.  Did 
they  have  steamers  and  railways  ?  Surely  they  were  not  modern  red 
men  who  had  no  commercial  ideas  and  located  towns  and  villages 
without  reference  to  facilities  for  navigation  or  proximity  of  produc- 
tive districts.  I  have  said  this  that  one  may  not  confound  works  of 
primeval  races  with  those  of  the  heroic  Spanish  knight. 

"Using  Theodore  Irving' s  translations  of  old  records  preserved  in 
Spain,  and  applying  data  somewhat  vague  to  geographical  and  topical 
facts  familiar  to  those  who  have  traversed  the  Gulf  States  as  often  as 
most  Confederate  soldiers,  and  then  cognizant  of  each  antiquarian's 
discovery  that  designates  a  spot  visited  by  the  Spanish  adventurers,  I 
would  state  that  De  Soto  left  Tampa  Bay,  Florida,  going  northwest, 
June  31,  1539.  De  Soto's  route  was  parallel  to  or  near  the  road  from 
Tampa  to  Fort  King.  He  crossed  the  Withlacoochee  and  Suwanee 
Rivers.  He  moved  into  Georgia  and  passed  the  winter  of  1539-40  on 
the  Bay  of  St.  Marks.  March  3,  1540,  he  left  Appalachee  and 
following  up  the  east  bank  of  the  Flint  River,  crossed  into  Baker 
County,  Georgia.  The  Alabama  poet  and  literateur,  Alexander  B. 
Meek,  in  his  book  entitled,  'Romantic  Passages  in  Southwestern 
History,'  published  in  1837,  says  that  De  Soto  passed  very  near  the 
site  of  the  present  beautiful  city  of  Macon.  But  Judge  Meek  never 
heard  of  Governor  Gilmer's  carnelian  dagger  handle  or  of  the  discovery 
more  recently  made  at  Macon,  in  this  State. 

"When  the  place  was  partially  fortified  not  many  months  ago,  Dr. 
I.  E.  Nagle,  now  of  New  Orleans,  was  sent  thither  to  organize  army 
hospitals  and  provide  for  the  sick  and  wounded.  He  was  watching 
Confederate  soldiers  employed  in  perfecting  old  military  earthworks 
planned  and  upheaved  by  prehistoric  races  in  the  suburbs  of  Macon. 
These  earthworks  were  made  after  the  models  used  in  our  time 
and  it  was  only  necessary  to  repair  them.  They  may  have  been 
planned  and  built  by  De  Soto,  but  it  is  much  more  probable  that  he, 
as  did  these  Confederate  soldiers,  used  here,  as  the  latter  did  the 
mounds  to  resist  Grant's  gunboats  along  Yazoo  Pass,  these  old  strong- 
holds of  primeval  occupants  of  the  country.  In  any  event,  while  the 
Confederates  were  digging  away  the  base  of  a  broad,  earthen  wall, 
they  came  upon  a  grave,  its  occupants'  skeletons  encased  in  rust-eaten 
coats  of  mail.  Dr.  Nagle  sought  to  secure  the  relics,  but  these  were 
claimed  and  retained  by  the  owner  of  the  spot,  and  the  doctor  was 
only  suffered  to  have  a  broken  rosary  twined  about  a  skeleton's 
neck.  This  rosary  adorns  to-day,  so  Dr.  N.  tells  me,  the  walls  of  the 
priest's  rooms  attached  to  the  cathedral  in  Memphis,  Tennessee.  A 
part  of  the  sword  of  an  armored  knight  remained  undestroyed  by 
time ;  but  the  armor  itself  was  only  a  series  of  layers  of  iron  rust.     But 


i4o  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

full  details  of  this  discovery  may  be  obtained  by  the  curious  in  such 
matters  by  addressing  Dr.  I.  E.  Nagle,  No.  13  St.  Charles  Street, 
New  Orleans,  Louisiana,  as  W.  B.  Bryan,  of  Columbus,  Mississippi, 
will  tell  of  the  discovery  of  the  Spanish  apothecary's  scales  by  his 
grandfather  at  Yorkville,  Alabama. 

"Leaving  Macon,  where  he  probably  fought  the  Indians,  using 
moundbuilders'  earthworks,  he  passed  near  Milledgeville,  and  crossed 
the  Ocmulgee  and  Oconee  Rivers,  entering  the  province  of  Cofachiqui 
lying  within  the  fork  of  the  Broad  and  Savannah  Rivers.  May  3, 
1540,  the  Spaniards  moved  northwest  and  were  five  days  crossing  the 
mountains  of  Habersham  County,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  late  Texas 
soldier  and  senator,  Rusk, — Houston's  peer, — was  born.  In  De  Soto's 
time,  this  Cherokee  County  was  known  as  Chaiaque.  He  came  to 
Canasauga,  after  several  days'  march,  on  the  banks  of  the  Etowah. 
June  25,  1540,  the  Spaniard  encamped  at  Chiaha  situated  on  the 
upper  end  of  an  island,  as  described  by  De  Soto's  chroniclers,  fifteen 
miles  in  length.  There  is  no  such  island  in  the  Coosa  River,  but  the 
Spaniard  probably  mistook  the  peninsula  formed  by  the  Coosa  and 
Chattooga  for  an  island,  or  these  rivers  were  originally  united,  creating 
an  island  above  the  point  of  confluence.  Farmers  of  the  district  say 
that  such  was  the  case.  In  any  event  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  indian 
town  and  stronghold,  Chiaha,  was  but  a  short  distance  above  the 
junction  of  the  Coosa  and  Chattooga. 

"Leaving  Chiaha  July  2,  1540,  De  Soto  on  the  same  day  reached 
Acoste  on  the  southern  extremity  of  the  island.  The  next  day  he 
crossed  the  Coosa  River,  marching  several  days  through  a  province  of 
that  name — it  is  sometimes  spelled  Cosa — embracing  Benton,  Talladega, 
Coosa,  and  Tallapoosa  Counties,  in  Alabama.  He  rested  at  an  indian 
town  called  Cosa,  till  August  20,  1540,  when  he  began  to  move 
through  Tallamuchassie  Ullobali  and  Toasi.  He  reached  Tallise,  in 
the  curve  of  the  Tallapoosa  River  at  the  site  of  the  present  village  of 
Tallase,  September  18,  1540.  From  Tallise  he  went  to  Tuscaluza,  on 
the  banks  of  the  Alabama,  in  Clarke  County,  where  he  fought  his  most 
terrible  battle.  November  18,  1540,  he  moved  northwardly  and,  in 
five  days,  arrived  at  Cabusto,  in  the  province  of  Pafalaya  on  the  Black 
Warrior  River  in  Green  County  near  the  village*  of  Erie.  After  a  few 
days'  anabasis,  he  crossed  the  Tombigbee  in  a  province  called  Chicasa, 
in  a  few  days  encamping  at  a  town  of  the  same  name.  Northern 
Mississippi  and  Western  Tennessee  were  dwelling  places  of  the  heroic 
Chicsas  or  Chicasaws.  We  only  known  that  after  a  terrific  battle  with 
these  red  men,  De  Soto  was  six  days  in  reaching  the  Mississippi. 
Whether  this  battle  was  fought,  as  many  suppose,  near  Tupelo  or  at 
Carrollton,  in  Mississippi,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say.  From  either 
point  the  great  river  might  have  been  reached  at  Memphis  after  a  six 
days'  march.  He  crossed  it  forty  miles  above  Memphis.  With  much 
accuracy  the  district  known  as  Surrounded  Hill,  in  Arkansas,  sixty 
miles  west  of  Memphis,  is  described  by  those  who  recited  the  story 
of  De  Soto's  adventures.     Beyond  this,  it  is  needless  to  follow  him. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  141 

Except  Surrounded  Hill,  no  place  of  encampment  or  of  battle  west  of 
the  river  has  been  identified,  except,  as  I  have  shown,  that  he  was 
buried  below  Helena,  at  the  base  of  Crowley's  Ridge,  in  the  channel 
occupied  by  the  river  at  that  date,  now  known  as  Old  Town  Lake. 

"When  Arkansas  and  Texas  and  the  Indian  Territory  are  more 
densely  populated,  and  broader  areas  are  cultivated,  the  plow  and 
spade  may  make  discoveries  to  define  paths  as  made  west  of  the  Mis- 
sissipi  by  the  daring,  resolute  Spaniard." 

"Will  you  not  tell  me,"  asked  the  schoolmaster,  "how  you  know 
that  De  Soto  was  entombed  in  Old  Town  Lake.  I  never  heard  the 
assertion  before.  I  have  seen  many  pictures  of  the  sad  burial  scene, 
but  never  one  representing  the  locality  as  now  identified." 

The  newspaper  man  replied  : 

"We  have  heard,  enough  of  De  Soto  for  to-night.  Remind  me 
to-morrow  evening  or  at  noon  that  the  story  should  have  its  proper 
conclusion,  and  I  will  tell  all  I  know  of  De  Soto  that  has  not  been 
published  in  countless  books  and  magazine  articles  devoted  to  this 
attractive  theme." 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


Physical  and  Climatic  Charms  of  East  Tennessee. — The  Captain  and  Spratling  Pur- 
sued by  Cavalry. — A  Bloody  Day's  Work. — Spratling  Visits  Bessie  Starnes. — 
Wounded. — The  Conflagration  and  Flight. 

Occasional  days,  even  now,  in  February,  presaged  the  coming  of 
spring.  Delights  of  sunny  latitudes  were  discovered  in  Favonian 
breezes  occasionally  coming  up  from  the  sea,  and  in  the  ethereal 
mildness  of  southern  summer  skies.  Verse  and  book  makers  tell  of 
"smiling  sunlight"  and  "fertilizing  showers"  when  spring-time  comes 
in  hyperborean  regions.  The  imagination  of  weary,  restless  wealth 
and  fashion  is  excited,  and  never  learns  the  truth  that  the  fiery 
fierceness  of  the  summer's  sun  and  hot-air  baths  of  cloudy  afternoons 
are  infinitely  more  intolerable  at  Cape  May  and  Saratoga,  than 
cooling  winds  that  climb  the  mountains  and  descend  into  the  valleys 
and  come  toying  with  roses  and  dancing  about  cottages  of  dwellers  in 
East  Tennessee.  Each  inhabitant  sooner  or  later  falls  under  the  spell 
of  enchantment  and  is  ready  to  exclaim,  "The  fairest  land  beneath 
the  sun."  Spring  expands  into  summer,  and  summer  is  the  rest  of 
the  year.  East  Tennessee  is  poetically  eloquent  of  the  charms  of 
delightful  valleys,  the  sweep  of  verdure-clad  plains,  the  witchery  of 
beautiful  rivers,  and  impressive  majesty  of  environing  mountains. 
The  face  of  the  country  is  fascinating,  strong,  rugged,  full  of  char- 
acter, and  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Glad  and  gracious  days,  through  an  entire  twelve-month,  have  here 
been  illumined  with  sweetest  sunlight,  and  shed  upon  us  continuous 
luster.  Not  elsewhere  do  flowers  blossom  more  brightly  or  fruits  ripen 
more  generously  or  waters  murmur  more  sweetly  or  birds  sing  more 
charmingly  through  all  the  months  of  the  delightful  year. 

To  rise  when  those  mountains  environing  East  Tennessee  are  flushed 
with  splendors  of  earliest  dawn ;  to  traverse  smiling  valleys  and  deep 
green  fields  while  scarlet   flowers  clasp  the   gliding  feet;    to  watch 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  143 

purple  wraiths  of  rain  haunting  the  fairness  of  the  parti-colored 
mountains;  to  see  the  shadows  chase  the  sun's  rays  on  the  dusky 
sides  of  the  Blue  Ridge  or  Smoky  or  Cumberland  range ;  to  feel  the 
living  light  of  the  cloudless  day  beat  as  with  a  million  pulses ;  to  go 
out  in  the  luster  of  the  night  aflame  with  astral  splendors,  until  the 
dark  still  plains  and  deep  and  darker  valleys  blaze  like  a  phosphor- 
escent sea;  to  breathe  this  wondrous  air,  soft  as  the  first  impassioned 
kisses  of  young  love,  and  rich  as  wine  with  the  delicious  odors  of  a 
world  of  flowers — these,  as  was  written  of  Italy,  have  been  our 
joys — the  joys  at  once  of  the  senses  and  of  the  soul. 

Eastern  Tennessee  is  the  dream-land  of  the  continent.  Cold,, 
fierce,  wintry  blasts  that  came,  not  long  ago,  from  icy  caverns  beneath 
hyperborean  snows  and  made  us  shiver  on  the  mountain's  brow,  only 
serve  to  excite  stronger  affection  for  the  homes  we  have  in  deep 
valleys,  beneath  cloudless  skies,  fanned  by  delicious  breezes  coming, 
warm  with  the  life-blood  of  the  equator,  and  tripping  away,  with  laps 
full  of  roses,  from  rich,  green  fields  almost  tropical  in  their  exuber- 
ance. 

Such  was  the  land  of  which  Mr.  Wade,  the  good  pedagogue,  was 
delighted  to  tell.  He  had  revisited  Eastern  Tennessee.  Encountering 
no  difficulty  at  the  Hiwassee  bridge  and  having  passports  for  himself 
and  Mamie  Hughes  from  General  Johnston,  he  had  complied  with 
Mamie's  wishes  and  proceeded  directly  to  Tunnel  Hill  and  thence  to 
Mamie's  home.  Her  anxiety  to  return  to  Georgia,  the  pedagogue 
said,  was  infinitely  heightened  when  she  was  informed  by  him  that 
her  brother  had  preceded  her  to  her  mother's  home  with  a  safe  con- 
duct given  by  the  captain. 

"The  captain,  it  seems,"  said  Mamie,  "and  that  gigantic  Spratling 
who  participated  in  delights  of  the  dance  by  moonlight  on  the  banks 
of  the  Tennessee,  are  my  brother's  benefactors.  It  makes  me  shudder 
when  I  think  of  my  brother's  neck  in  the  grasp  of  that  giant;  but  I 
can't  forget  his  simple,  earnest,  big-hearted  generosity,  and  how  he 
loves  my  brother  because  this  brother  is  beloved  by  his  own  pretty 
sweetheart.  How  infinite  must  be  the  ardor  of  his  devotion  to  that 
charming  Bessie  Starnes  of  whom  my  brother  has  often  written.  And 
what  an  extraordinary  creature  is  this  gigantic  Spratling.  Devoid  of 
jealousy,  and  in  utter  self-abnegation  he  becomes  the  more  than 
friend  of  my  brother  because  he  thinks  Bessie  Starnes  would  have 
him  serve  her  preferred  suitor.  If  Bessie  were  cognizant  of  the  facts 
and  capable  of  measuring  and  properly  valuing  such  devotion  I  greatly 
fear  she  would  prefer  the  giant  and  even  forget  my  handsome  brother. 
I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how  I  could  withstand  such  assertions  of 
devotion  made  by  such  a  soldier  as  you  describe  when  telling  of  the 
daring  deeds  and  generous  acts  and  words  of  this  wonderful  Sprat- 
ling." 

"Instead  of  coming  out  on  foot  through  Sequatchie  Valley  as  I 
proposed,"  continued  the  schoolmaster,  "of  which  I  spoke  in  order 
that  the  captain  might  be  prepared   for  the  worst,  we  traveled  very 


i44  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

comfortably  and  very  safely  in  a  condemned  ambulance  given  me  by 
a  quarter-master.  Mamie,  instead  of  the  role  of  a  rollicking  country 
boy,  enacted  the  part  of  a  staid  country  dame.  I  had  no  difficulty  in 
distinguishing  rebel  from  Union  scouts,  and  was  provided,  as  you 
know,  with  papers  eminently  satisfactory  to  either.  I  am  here,  now, 
on  a  mission  of  peace  and  instructed  to  invite  the  captain,  Spratling, 
the  newspaper  man  and  his  brother  to  spend  a  day  or  weeks  with 
the  lieutenant  at  his  mother's  home." 

Very  certainly  no  message  ever  gave  greater  satisfaction.  Sprat- 
ling  alone  failed  to  assert  his  glad  acceptance.  He  became  moody, 
and  was  silent.  He  said,  at  last,  that  before  going  to  Tunnel  Hill, 
we  must  go  in  the  opposite  direction  toward  Chattanooga.  We 
must  know  what  the  enemy  are  doing,  and  that  no  great  movement  is 
on  foot,  before  we  devote  a  day  to  idleness. 

There  was  no  evading  the  necessity  and  yet  we  suspected  that  the 
suggestion  sprang  from  Spratling' s  anxiety  to  meet  Bessie  Starnes. 
But  armies  could  not  remain  idle.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly, 
and  now  and  then,  we  caught  faint  breathings  of  dawning  spring- 
time. 

Next  morning,  at  day-dawn,  the  captain  and  Spratling  set  out  on 
foot  to  traverse  the  distance  between  the  two  armies.  Their  purpose 
was  to  go  as  far  as  Chattanooga  Creek  between  Rossville  and  Chatta- 
nooga, and,  returning,  spend  the  night  at  Starnes'.  They  would  not 
be  absent  more  than  three  days  and  on  their  return  we  proposed  to 
accept  the  hospitality  of  Lieutenant  Hughes.  We  knew  well  enough 
that  the  expedition,  now  entered  upon  by  the  captain,  would  be  as 
speedily  ended  as  possible. 

It  lasted  just  three  days  and  none  fuller  of  grave  incidents  ever 
befell  the  two  scouts.  They  said,  when  they  returned,  Spratling 
severely  but  not  dangerously  wounded  by  a  bullet  that  pierced  his 
left  shoulder,  that  they  were  induced  by  anxiety  to  learn  what  move- 
ment was  contemplated  by  the  Union  army,  to  cross  Chattanooga 
Creek  not  far  from  Rossville.  They  were  greatly  fatigued  and  had 
mounted,  each,  an  ill-used,  emaciated  horse,  purchased  for  a  trifling 
sum  from  an  innocent  countryman,  who  had  certainly  stolen  the 
animals.  When  they  had  turned  back,  and  were  within  five  miles  of 
the  creek,  flooded  by  recent  rainstorms,  they  "discovered  that  a  squad 
of  Union  cavalry  followed. 

Flight  and  pursuit  were  instantly  begun.  The  worn-down  horses 
soon  began  to  flag.  Fleet  enough  at  first,  and  out-stripping  pursuit, 
it  was  found  at  the  end  of  two  and  a  half  miles  that  the  horses  must 
be  abandoned. 

The  two  flying  scouts*  had  entered  a  long,  narrow  lane.  Some 
distance  ahead  was  a  carriage  occupied  by  a  gentleman  and  his  wife. 
This  was  overtaken.  There  was  no  other  recourse.  The  captain  said 
to  Spratling : 

"Tell  the  gentleman  we  must  exchange  horses,  and  that  a  fair 
exchange,  under  such  circumstances,  is  no  robbery." 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  145 

Spratling  having  the  better  horse  was  slightly  ahead.  He  rode 
beside  the  carriage,  a  negro  driving  it,  and  apologizing  for  the 
necessity,  ordered  a  halt.  The  frightened  negro  leaped  from  his  seat, 
and  Spratling,  when  the  captain  came  up,  had  cut  the  'hame  strings' 
and  thrown  the  harness  from  one  horse.  This  the  captain  mounted. 
Looking  back,  he  beheld  the  flying  cavalry  enter  the  lane.  In  an 
instant  the  other  horse  was  stripped.  There  was  no  need  for  saddles, 
and  the  captain  and  Spratling  on  fresh  horses  outsped  pursuit. 
Protected  for  a  time  against  shots  of  the  enemy  by  the  carriage  and 
its  occupants,  they  fled,  at  last  under  fire,  down  the  long  lane.  The 
aim  of  men  pursuing,  at  men  pursued,  all  on  horseback,  is  not 
accurate;  and  firearms,  thus  used,  are  not  dangerous;  but  when 
twenty  or  thirty  bullets  come,  in  successive  showers,  designed  to  fall 
upon  a  fugitive's  unprotected  spine,  he  is  much  inclined  to  be 
uncomfortable.  He  imagines  there  are  holes  in  his  back.  He 
thrusts  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head  and  will  lie  down  on  his 
horse. 

"Much  heroism  is  required  of  him,"  said  Spratling,  when  telling 
of  this  race  for  life,  "who  sits  perfectly  erect  under  such  painful 
circumstances." 

The  foremost  of  the  enemy  were  within  fifty  yards  when  the 
captain  and  Spratling  sped  away  on  the  horses  taken  from  the  carriage. 
Within  a  mile  the  fresh  steeds  added  steadily  to  the  distance  from 
their  pursuers,  but  that  ridden  by  the  gigantic  Spratling  bore  two 
hundred  and  thirty  pounds.  Its  limbs  grew  weak  and  Spratling  said 
to  the  captain  that  he  must  soon  abandon  it.  They  exchanged 
horses.  The  captain  weighing  only  one  hundred  and  sixty-five 
pounds,  the  more  weary  animal  again  moved  rapidly,  keeping  pace 
with  the  other. 

They  were  drawing  near  the  flooded  creek  when  the  weaker  horse, 
bearing  the  captain,  faltered  and  fell.  The  cavalry  were  now  within 
two  hundred  yards  and  the  creek,  swollen  by  recent  rains,  was  about 
the  same  distance  ahead.  The  weary  horse  rose  up  and  making  a 
desperate  struggle  reached  the  precipitous  bank  of  the  creek.  The 
bridge  had  disappeared.  Neither  rider  checked  his  courser.  Plunging 
in  over  the  precipitous  bank,  they  sank,  to  the  riders  it  seemed  an 
infinite  distance,  down  into  the  depths  of  the  roaring  torrent.  When 
they  came  to  the  surface  they  were  rapidly  borne  down  the  stream  by 
its  angry  force.  The  captain's  weary  horse,  incapable  of  exertion, 
could  not  sustain  the  weight  of  the  armed  rider.  The  captain  dropped 
into  the  current,  and  holding  the  mane,  floated  beside  the  animal, 
following  that  bearing  Spratling.  They  had  descended  the  stream 
perhaps  one  hundred  yards  when  Spratling  guided  his  horse  to  a  place 
of  possible  exit  on  the  eastern  bank.  Making  a  desperate  effort  the 
powerful  animal  escaped  from  the  raging  torrent.  The  captain  was 
not  so  fortunate.  His  weary  steed  had  not  the  strength  to  make  the 
ascent.  Struggling  desperately,  the  soft  clay  of  the  steep  bank  yielded 
and  the  horse  rolled  backward,  and  drowning,  was  swept  away  by  the 

10 


i46  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

angry  waves.     The  captain  clambered  up,  holding  to  the  limbs  of 
trees  that  grew  at  the  water's  edge  and  swept  the  water's  surface. 

If  the  pursuers,  now  halting  where  the  bridge  had  stood,  crossed 
the  creek,  the  scouts  were  lost.  Hurrying  to  the  crossing  place  and 
using  water-proof  cartridges  the  scouts  began  firing  upon  the  cavalry. 

Spratling  and  the  captain,  from  behind  trees,  delivered  fatal  shots, 
while  volleys  fired  by  the  mounted  men  were  harmless.  The  lieuten- 
ant in  charge  of  the  squad  soon  ordered  a  retreat. 

The  result  of  the  flight  and  fight  was  the  death  of  three  or  four 
Union  cavalrymen  and  the  wrongful  acquisition  by  the  Confederate 
scouts  of  an  excellent  horse. 

"Spratling,  terrible  as  had  been  our  exertions  and  exciting  as  was 
the  flight  and  incapable  of  effort  as  we  were  after  such  a  struggle  for  life, 
was  anxious,"  the  captain  said,  "to  move  rapidly  towards  Starnes' 
place."  He  proposed  to  walk,  surrendering  the  powerful  horse 
wholly  to  the  captain.  The  latter  objected.  "Then,"  said  Sprat- 
ling, "I  will  have  a  horse  of  my  own." 

At  a  little  farmhouse,  hard  by,  Spratling  called.  The  owner 
came  affrightedly  to  the  door.     Spratling  said  to  him : 

"My  name  is  Spratling.  I  am  a  Confederate  scout.  I  never  told 
a  lie,  that  I  know  of,  in  my  life.  I  want  a  horse.  I  will  ride  him 
only  ten  miles.     Then  he  will  be  returned  unharmed  to  you." 

The  farmer  was  silent. 

"Come,"  said  Spratling,  "I  have  no  time  for  words.  Bring  me  a 
horse  within  ten  minutes  and  you  shall  lose  nothing.  If  you  fail,  or 
send  Yankees  or  bushwhackers  after  me  I  will  burn  your  house  and 
destroy  everything.     Do  as  I  ask  and  you  will  lose  nothing." 

Spratling,  bestriding  a  good  horse,  soon  joined  the  captain.  The 
two  scouts,  within  two  hours,  were  near  the  modest  home  of  Bessie 
Starnes. 

"Bushwhackers  will  be  on  our  path  to-night.  That  cowardly, 
silent,  surly  little  fellow  from  whom  you  borrowed  that  horse,"  said 
the  captain,  "will  set  a  squad  of  murderers  on  our  track.  He  has 
summoned  them  already  and  that  may  be  the  costliest  animal  a  Texan 
ever  bestrode.  I  know  you  must  see  Bessie  and  tell  her  how  you 
came  to  capture  her  lover,  the  Yankee  lieutenant,  and  my  prospective 
brother-in-law.  You  would  tell  Bessie  how  sorry  you  are  and  that 
you  did  it  ignorantly  and  then  you  will  tell  her  how  you  and  I  and 
the  editor  and  his  brother  and  the  schoolmaster  are  going  to  spend  a 
a  delightful  week  at  the  young  lieutenant's  home.  Then  Bessie  will 
hardly  know  whether  she  loves  you  or  the  lieutenant,  and  you  and 
she  will  talk  and  dream  and  talk  again  even  until  sunrise. 

"I  will  rest  on  the  hill-side  that  looks  down  on  Bessie's  home. 
Bring  me  bacon,  eggs,  and  bread  when  you  bring  your  horse  to  my 
resting  place.  I  am  hungrier  than  a  famished  wolf.  It  is  not  well 
that  those  who  may  soon  follow  us  should  know  where  I  am.  The 
man  from  whom  you  borrowed  the  animal  did  not  see  me.  I  thought 
it  best  to  remain  concealed  while  you  were  negotiating  for  the  horse. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  147 

If  we  are  pursued  the  enemy  will  have  only  strength  enough  to  assure 
success  in  a  conflict  with  you.  We  are  lucky  in  this,"  continued  the 
captain,  half  soliloquizing,  as  he  left  Spratling  following  the  dim 
roadway,  while  he  turned  into  the  woods  to  ascend  the  hill  beyond 
and  in  front  of  the  house. 

Spratling  was  warmly  welcomed.  Mother  and  daughter  were  alike 
devoted  to  the  honest,  fearless  Texan.  Deeming  Bessie  the  betrothed 
of  the  lieutenant,  Spratling  was  much  more  formal  and  reserved  in  his 
bearing  than  when  last  he  met  the  pretty  mountain  girl.  When  she 
asked  why  he  was  thus  reserved  he  gave  the  reasons  with  refreshing 
simplicity  and  perfect  truthfulness,  and  then  told  Bessie  how  he  came 
to  capture  her  lover.  When  he  narrated  with  painstaking,  honest 
minuteness  each  incident  of  the  event,  how  he  crept  to  the  tree 
beside  which  the  lieutenant  slept,  his  head  resting  on  its  roots,  and 
how  he  silently  and  noiselessly  grasped  the  helpless  lieutenant's  throat, 
whispering  the  word  '-'Spratling"  in  his  ear,  Bessie  grew  pale  and 
shuddered. 

"Oh  !  I  knew  you  would  hate  me  for  it,"  exclaimed  Spratling,  "but 
I  did  not  know  he  was  your  lover.  I  did  not  know  he  was  Lieutenant 
Hughes!  How  could  I  help  it?  You  ought  to  love  me  that  I  spared 
him.  It's  a  wonder  I  had  not  killed  him.  But  he  knew  me,  and 
that  resistance  was  useless,  and  then  he  was  helpless." 

Bessie  insisted  that  she  was  glad  the  lieutenant  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  those  who  served  him  so  well  and  that  she  esteemed  him 
none  the  less  that  he  had  captured  her  lover. 

When  Spratling,  that  she  might  wholly  forgive  him,  added  that  he 
would  have  died  rather  than  wrong  or  harm  the  man  Bessie  loved, 
and  because  she  loved  him,  Bessie  stared  wonderingly  into  Spratling's 
great  blue  eyes.  She  did  not  then  measure  or  comprehend  the  depth, 
dignity  or  worth  of  Spratling's  self-sacrificing  devotion.  But  when 
the  earnest  soldier  frankly  said,  "I  would  rather  die,  Bessie,  than 
harm  even  a  dog  that  you  loved,"  her  bright  eyes  sank  to  the  floor, 
and  pearly  tear  drops  of  gratitude  were  priceless  jewels  proffered  in 
exchange  for  treasures  of  affection  exposed  to  her  vision  by  the  ardent, 
honest,  magnanimous  soldier. 

Bessie  hardly  knew  whether  she  loved  more  the  handsome,  lithe, 
graceful,  gallant  lieutenant  or  the  self-reliant,  honest,  frank,  and 
fearless  scout.  She  was  now  endeavoring,  in  the  solitude  of  her  little 
bed  chamber,  when  Spratling  slept  soundly  in  the  adjoining  room,  to 
solve  the  vexed  problem.  She  had  seen  first  and  first  loved  the 
fascinating  lieutenant  who  was  passionately  fond  of  her.  He  had 
constantly  written  to  her.  When  he  came  to  Chattanooga  he  at  once 
sought  her  presence.  He  had  endeavored  to  make  her  confess  the 
charms  and  comprehend  the  intellectual  and  personal  virtues  of  his 
sister,  Mamie,  who,  he  said,  was  to  become  Bessie's  sister.  But  in 
his  absence,  and  when  she  measured  the  wealth  of  the  unselfish 
Texan's  affections  lavished  upon  her  and  confessed  the  grand 
simplicity  of  his  character  and  personal  worth,  she  confessed  for  him  a 


148  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

degree  of  admiration    and   gratitude    that   almost  lapsed    into    love. 

The  events  of  the  day  followed  by  those  of  the  evening,  the  long, 
hard  ride,  the  flight,  the  passage  of  the  creek,  the  fight  at  the  wrecked 
bridge,  and  protracted  interview  with  Bessie,  were  exciting  incidents, 
and  Spratling,  utterly  exhausted,  slept  profoundly. 

He  was  aroused  by  hearing  his  name  pronounced  by  some  one  at 
the  door  demanding  admittance. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  asked  Spratling. 

"Eve  come  with  friends  to  get  my  horse,"  was  the  answer. 

"I  promised  to  return  him  in  the  morning  and  nobody  ever 
accused  Spratling  of  breaking  his  word.  Leave  the  house  or  I  will 
shoot  you." 

"Come  out  or  we  will  burn  this  house  as  you  did  Mrs.  Shields',  and 
we  will  suffer  none  to  escape.  Come  out,  like  a  man,  and  spare  the 
pretty  girl  you  pretend  to  love." 

The  captain  was  now  aroused.  On  the  hill  side  looking  down  upon 
the  house,  he  was  impatient  for  the  disappearance  of  morning  mists  that 
partially  obstructed  vision  making  it  impossible  to  select  victims  for 
his  rifle  and  repeaters.  The  weary  horses  were  tethered  just  beyond 
the  brow  of  the  hill  and  the  captain  was  ready  for  the  impending  fray. 
His  enemies  little  dreamed  of  danger  and  only  feared  that  the  power- 
ful Texan,  by  some  means  might  escape  in  the  dim,  misty  twilight. 
Spratling,  fearing  that  the  captain  slept,  sought  to  temporize.  He 
thought  that  day-dawn  would  serve  the  captain  well  and  therefore 
asked  his  untimely  visitor  why  he  called  so  early. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,"  asked  Spratling,  "that  I  would  deliver  your 
horse  to-day." 

"Yes"  was  the  answer,  "but  I  knew  you  lied." 

The  captain,  overhearing  this  reply,  said,  when  telling,  afterward, 
of  the  event,  that  he  knew  that  the  conference  was  at  an  end — that  a 
shot  would  follow  that  word. 

"  I  watched  and  waited,"  he  said,  "only  a  moment.  Spratling 
knew  that  his  interlocutor  was  not  alone.  Instead  of  opening  the 
door  he  suddenly  thrust  aside  the  window-shutter,  and,  as  he 
anticipated,  found  four  men  in  the  yard  silently  watching  and 
waiting  at  the  doorway.  Spratling  fired.  By  the  flash  of  the  pistol 
I  was  shown  the  object  of  his  hate.  I  fired  into  the  little  group. 
Two  at  least  were  fatally  wounded,  but  one,  who  was  unharmed,  fired 
at  Spratling,  the  shot  taking  effect  in  the  brave  fellow's  shoulder.  It 
must  have  paralyzed  him  for  a  time.  He  withdrew  from  the  window 
and  then  the  fog  rolling  down  the  high  hill  grew  so  dense  that  even 
the  house  was  invisible.  I  was  helpless,  and  could  only  await  the 
course  of  events.  I  could  hear  the  conversation  of  the  bushwhackers, 
but  distinguish  only  now  and  then  a  word  spoken.  Their  attention 
had  been  so  riveted  upon  Spratling' s  movements  that  they  did  not 
dream  that  my  rifle  laid  low  one  of  their  number.  This  was  the  more 
wonderful  since  Spratling  had  not  fired  simultaneously.  The  light 
from   the  flash  of  Spratling' s  pistol  had  given  fatal  direction  to  my 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  149 

bullet.  But  strangely  enough  the  intent  bushwhackers  had  neither 
seen  the  flash  of  my  rifle  nor  heard  its  report.  They  ascribed  the 
sad  havoc  to  Spratling's  diabolical  pistol.  Satisfied,  too,  that  he  was 
alone  they  were  resolved  to  capture  and  destroy  him.  The  farmer 
whose  horse  Spratling  had  taken,  was  heard  insisting  that  the  house 
should  be  burned." 

As  Spratling  told  us  afterward,  he  had  lain  down  without  undressing 
himself,  and  slept  instantly,  unconscious  even  of  his  own  existence, 
till  he  heard  his  name  pronounced.  When  shot,  he  staggered  away 
from  the  window.  Bessie,  meanwhile,  was  dressed  and  watching  and 
listening  at  the  doorway  leaning  from  Spratling's  into  hers  and  her 
mother's  apartment.  She  could  see  Spratling  when  he  fired  upon  his 
assailants  from  the  window  and  when  he  started  back  she  knew  he  was 
wounded.     He  called  her  and  telling  her  to  be  quiet,  said: 

"  I  am  shot  in  the  shoulder.  I  am  not  hurt.  I  can  still  raise  my 
arm.  Stop  the  bleeding.  Tie  it  up  tightly  and  quickly.  Then  let 
me  have  another  shot  at  the  rascals." 

While  he  was  saying  this  he  tore  the  sheet  on  which  he  had  slept, 
in  strips,  and  Bessie  and  her  mother  bound  them  tightly  about  the 
armpit,  closing  the  orifices  of  the  wound  in  front  and  rear  with 
cotton.  The  bullet  had  pierced  the  flesh  and  muscles  beneath  the 
shoulder  joint. 

Meanwhile  gray  mists  of  morning  had  disappeared  and  the  captain 
could  see  that  only  three  men  were  left  to  capture  or  kill  the  Texan. 
At  any  moment  he  could  reduce  the  number  by  one  but  deemed  it 
prudent  to  await  developments.  He  supposed  that  Spratling  was  not 
idle  and  had  good  reasons  for  inaction. 

The  captain  saw  one  of  the  bushwhackers  leave  the  rest  who  stood 
behind  trees  some  distance  from  the  house.  They  were  perfectly 
exposed  to  the  captain's  aim  but  could  hardly  be  harmed  by  Sprat- 
ling. Soon  the  plans  of  the  bushwhackers  were  developed.  Flames 
first  ascended  from  a  "fodder-stack"  in  the  rear  of  the  house  and  then 
from  the  dairy  hard  by  the  residence.  Firebrands  were  thrown  upon 
the  adjoining  kitchen. 

The  captain  could  endure  inaction  no  longer.  He  fired  upon 
the  bushwhackers,  wounding  one  just  as  he  or  his  comrade  had 
wounded  Spratling.  The  fellow  shrieked,  "I'm  shot!"  and  fell. 
The  captain  rushed  shouting  down  the  hill  and  with  his  pistol  fired  at 
the  flying  bushwhackers. 

Spratling's  arm  was  now  cared  for.  He  opened  the  door,  a  pistol 
in  each  hand,  to  find  inextinguishable  flames  enveloping  the  kitchen 
attached  to  the  wooden  residence. 

Maddened  to  a  degree  never  known  before,  Spratling  rushed  into 
the  yard.  While  the  captain  pursued  the  bushwhacker  Spratling 
hurried  down  the  road  along  which  the  owner  of  the  horse  he  borrowed 
was  in  full  flight.  Spratling  was  fleet  as  he  was  incomparably  strong. 
He  leaped  the  fence.  His  strides  were  of  incredible  length  as  he 
went  headlong   down  the  road.      The  wretched   little   farmer   looked 


150  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

back.  He  beheld  his  doom  in  the  giant's  coming.  He  leaned  for- 
ward, straining  every  nerve  and  muscle  and  finally  fell,  breathless  and 
helpless.     Armed,  as  he  was,  he  forgot  his  pistols  in  his  terror. 

Spratling  ran  beyond  the  helpless  wretch.  As  he  turned  back  fires 
of  infernal  hate  and  vengeance  were  lighted  up  in  his  face  by  the 
flames  he  beheld  consuming  the  home  and  all  the  wealth  of  Bessie 
Starnes.  Spratling  beheld  in  the  miserable,  cringing  wretch  only  an 
incendiary  and  assassin.  He  had  followed  as  a  murderer  on  Sprat- 
ling's  tracks  He  had  said  that  Spratling  lied,  an  offence  to  be 
punished,  in  accordance  with  the  code  of  morals  under  which  Sprat- 
ling was  reared,  with  death.  He  had  fired  the  home  of  Bessie 
Starnes.  In  Spratling's  eyes  the  miscreant's  deeds  were  worse  than 
infernal.  At  the  moment,  while  Bessie  and  her  mother  stood  in  the 
roadway  contemplating  the  destruction  of  all  their  wealth  and  of  their 
home,  Spratling  was  infuriated — a  very  fiend.  He  set  his  foot  upon 
the  fallen  coward,  and  stamped  and  kicked  him.  Bones,  ribs,  and 
skull  were  crushed.  He  thrust  his  foot  beneath  the  limp,  lifeless 
body  and  hurled  it  from  the  roadway. 

The  bushwhacker  escaped  from  the  captain.  When  he  returned 
from  the  pursuit  he  was  conscious,  as  when  Mrs.  Shields'  house  was 
destroyed,  that  instant  flight  was  an  urgent  necessity.  Bessie  and 
her  mother  would  find  a  safer  home  after  these  terrible  events,  south  of 
the  Confederate  lines,  than  in  the  vicinity  of  Chattanooga.  Sprat- 
ling was  made  to  comprehend  the  necessity  for  immediate  action. 
Bessie  was  to  be  cared  for  and  her  mother  made  comfortable,  and 
Spratling  had  no  opportunity  to  indulge  in  harrowing  thoughts  and 
self-accusations. 

Household  effects  saved  from  the  conflagration  were  deposited  in  a 
wagon,  the  two  horses  of  Mrs.  Starnes  were  attached  to  the  vehicle, 
the  ladies  drove  the  team,  Spratling  saddened  as  never  before,  by  the 
mishaps  of  an  eventful  day,  rode  rapidly  away  and  without  an  acci- 
dent, at  nightfall,  the  party  reached  our  camp.  An  apartment  for 
Mrs.  Starnes  and  Bessie  was  secured  in  a  neighboring  farmhouse,  and 
again  stories  of  adventure  were  told  at  night  by  the  camp  fire. 

Spratling  was  interrogated  and  confessed,  with  every  evidence  of 
keenest  anguish,  that  his  acts  had  caused  the'  wreaking  of  devilish 
vengeance  upon  those  he  loved.  He  said  it  became  his  duty  to 
replace  the  home  of  Mrs.  Starnes  and  that  at  last  he  had  a  purpose  in 
living. 

From  that  day  forth  he  became  the  self-constituted  guardian  of 
Bessie.  Affectionate,  kind,  and  of  matchless  generosity,  as  he  was, 
he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  three  or  four  men,  within  four  days, 
had  lost  their  lives  at  his  hands.  He  never  seemed  to  doubt  for  a 
moment  that  the  miserable  wretch  whom  he  killed  by  crushing  his 
chest  beneath  his  hob-nailed  boot,  deserved  his  fate.  Spratling's 
conscience  had  been  educated  in  the  school  of  war.  It  was  wholly 
right  to  kill  if  the  fallen  had  a  fair  opportunity  to  kill.  An  Indian's 
methods   of  ambuscading,    if  the   enemy's   superior   strength    made 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  151 

fighting  under  cover  necessary,  were  perfectly  justifiable.  No  qualms 
of  conscience  would  have  disturbed  Spratling's  repose  if  he  had 
hurled  the  wretch  who  had  sought  his  life  and  burned  Bessie's  home, 
over  visible  battlements  of  eternal  perdition.  Spratling's  dreams 
were  never  disturbed  by  the  crackling  of  the  breaking  ribs  and  skull 
of  his  helpless  victim.  Human  life  and  anguish,  in  a  soldier's  as  in  a 
practiced  surgeon's  eyes,  has  no  value.  It  is  only  necessary  that  it  be 
taken  or  given  "in  the  regular  course  of  trade." 


CHAPTER   XXII. 


The  Captain  Pursued  as  a  Horse-Thief. — How  he  Escaped  very  Narrowly. — A 
Brave  Boy. — Deposition  of  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston. — How  he  Bade  us 
Adieu. — Woes  of  Richmond. — The  Famed  Cemetery  of  Virginia's  Capital. — 
The  Poor  Child.— Its  Burial  Place. 

The  captain  was  telling  Mamie  one  evening,  some  time  after  events 
here  narrated,  of  the  devotion  and  courage  of  a  boy,  when  traversing 
the  country  below  Dalton.  Gillehan  was  not  fifteen  years  of  age  ;  but  his 
sinews  were  toughened  by  toil  and  exposure,  and  piercing  bright  eyes 
significant  of  pluck  and  keen  intelligence.  His  home  was  in  Tennes- 
see in  1863-64,  but  he  now  lives  in  Navvarro,  Texas.  He  and  the 
captain  had  been  making  a  long  journey,  and  noting  the  steady  move- 
ment of  the  whole  Federal  army,  now  slowly  advancing,  its  wings 
moving  forward  more  rapidly  to  outflank  General  Joe  Johnston  on 
the  east  and  on  the  west.  It  threatened  to  encompass  him  and  cut 
off  his  communication  with  Atlanta,  thus  forcing  him  again  and  again 
to  retreat.  But  Johnston's  army  was  growing  daily  in  numbers  and 
confidence,  and  especially  in  sublime  confidence  in  the  adroitness, 
seeming  omniscience  and  caution  of  General  Johnston,  who  never 
sacrificed  a  man  if  human  skill  and  watchfulness  could  obviate  the 
necessity.  Therefore  was  he  beloved,  as  well  as  trusted,  by  his  soldiers. 
They  believed  he  would  not  fight  needlessly  and  only  when  victory 
was  assured.  His  fighting  force,  when  he  assumed  command  near 
Chattanooga,  was  less  than  35,000  men,  and,  though  fighting  every 
day,  it  exceeded  50,000  when  he  reached  Atlanta,  in  July.  Deser- 
tions became  numberless  when  Johnston  was  about  to  occupy  the 
heights  environing  Atlanta,  and  when  President  Jefferson  Davis,  im- 
patient and  nervous,  and  tortured  by  Richmond  newspapers,  and  by 
property-holders  of  Atlanta,  and  by  subordinates  of  Johnston  who  had 
displaced  Bragg,  and  now  yearned  for  Johnston's  position  and  power, 
removed  Johnston  and  substituted  Hood. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  153 

"  I  was  sleeping  on  the  floor  of  a  little  cabin,  beside  Major-General 
William  B.  Bate,  near  the  southern  banks  of  the  Chattahoochee  river, 
and  within  a  few  miles  of  Atlanta,  at  three  o'clock  on  the  morning 
of  the  19th  of  July,  I  think  it  was,  1864,"  interposed  the  news- 
paper man,  "when  a  courier  came.  I  was  awakened  by  the  clatter 
of  the  horse's  hoofs.  The  speed  of  the  animal  told  of  the  excite- 
ment of  the  rider.  I  received  the  dispatch,  lighted  a  candle,  and 
handed  the  paper,  without  saying  a  word,  to  General  Bate,  who  had 
been  sleeping  soundly.  'My  God!'  exclaimed  Bate,  'have  you 
read  this  order  from  Richmond?'  I  nodded  assent.  He  sat  on  the 
blanket  on  which  we  had  been  sleeping  on  the  floor,  with  his  head 
resting  upon  his  hands  and  knees.  How  long  I  do  not  remember. 
But  death-like  silence,  broken  by  the  echoing  hoofs  of  the  flying 
courier's  horse,  pervaded  the  resting  place  of  fifty  thousand  men. 

"  'I  don't  know  what  will  be  the  result,'  said  General  Bate;  'but 
this  order  means  that  we  will  fight  to-day.  Hood  and  battle  are  con- 
vertible terms.  Tell  the  members  of  my  staff,  and  let  the  soldiers 
know  what  is  coming. ' 

"Within  half  an  hour  I  heard  the  hum  of  fifty  thousand  voices, 
sorrowfully,  and  in  the  dead  hour  of  the  night,  discussing  aad  deplor- 
ing the  substitution  of  Hood  for  Johnston.  At  sunrise  we  were  mov- 
ing, and  moving  sadly  and  silently  as  a  funeral  train,  towards  the 
•battlefield  of  Peach  Tree  Creek,  five  miles  north  of  Atlanta.  Of  this 
bloody  event,  history  tells.  Therefore,  I  would  only  recall  an  incident 
of  the  memorable  day,  illustrative  of  the  devotion  of  common  soldiers 
to  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston.  Our  division  moved,  just  after 
sunrise,  along  the  country  road  in  front  of  the  little  farmhouse  occu- 
pied by  him.  Soldiers,  at  the  head  of  the  column  called  for  him.  He 
came  out  bareheaded,  and  stood  on  the  piazza  looking  at  us.  Bate 
and  his  staff  removed  their  hats,  while  rude,  rugged,  dust-and-sun- 
embrowned  soldiers  asserted  infinite  love  and  reverence  for  the  gray- 
bearded,  degradea  veteran. 

"  '  Good-bye,  old  Joe  ;  God  bless  you  ! '  said  one. 

"  '  We  love  you,  and  will  never  forget  you !'  shouted  another. 

"  'This  is  the  darkest  day  that  ever  dawned  on  the  Confederacy  ! ' 
exclaimed  a  sergeant  near  me,  and  then  a  thousand  or  more  cried  out 
at  once,  asserting  affection  and  grief. 

"  Then  the  masses  of  men,  accumulating  in  front  of  the  house,  broke 
ranks,  thrust  the  palings  of  the  enclosure  aside,  and  gathered  about  the 
general.  Those  nearest  seized  his  hands,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  he  escaped  from  the  excited  multitude.  He  was  wholly  unmanned 
by  this  demonstration  of  affection,  and  tears  fell  from  his  eyes,  while 
bronzed,  bearded  soldiers  wept  as  if  they  were  children.  General 
Bate  and  staff  sat  upon  their  horses,  and  though,  before  the  sun  went 
down  Ave  rode  heedlessly  over  the  dead  bodies  of  many  then  weeping 
around  their  displaced  leader,  we,  too,  discovered  that  unconscious, 
unbidden  evidences  of  deepest  sympathy  with  these  soldiers  bedewed 
our  faces.     General  Johnston  disappeared  in  the  house. 


iS4  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

"  'Fall  in,  men!  Forward!'  And  then  no  other  words  were 
spoken,  and  the  steady  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  of  armed  legions  moving 
to  victory  or  death,  shook  the  earth.  Seventy  men  from  a  single 
brigade  of  Tennesseeans  had  already  deserted  their  colors  that  fatal 
morning,  and,  crossing  the  Chattahoochee,  entered  the  Federal  lines. 
In  portions  of  the  army  mutiny  was  threatened,  and  if  Joe  Johnston 
had  not  been  so  thorough  a  soldier,  obeying  as  he  exacted  obedience, 
he  would  have  remained  at  the  head  of  the  magnificent  army  he  had 
created.  These  soldiers  believed  it  to  be  invincible,  and  knew  it 
would  be  when  General  Johnston  chose  to  test  its  heroism.  Its  gallant 
deeds,  even  when  beheaded,  on  Peach-Tree  Creek,  and  two  days  later, 
when  McPherson  fell,  and  later,  at  Nashville  and  Franklin,  only  serve 
to  show  how  brilliant  would  have  been  its  achievements  with  Joe  John- 
ston demanding  an  exhibition  of  its  worth  and  illustrations  of  its  valor." 

But  the  captain,  when  the  newspaper  man  interposed,  was  telling  of 
incidents  that  occurred  four  or  five  months  earlier  at  Dalton.  Gille- 
han,  the  brave  youth  and  guide  whom  he  had  been  commending  to 
Mamie  Hughes,  and  the  captain  were  plodding,  foot-sore  and  weary, 
toward  Dalton,  then  occupied  as  General  Johnston's  headquarters. 
They  were  to  go  west  about  eight  miles,  and  as  many  north,  in  order 
to  learn  what  changes  had  been  made  during  the  week  in  the  position 
of  the  Federal  army.  Gillehan's  feet  were  very  sore.  He  even  com- 
plained that  his  sufferings  became  intolerable.  We  saw  two  Confeder- 
ate cavalrymen  tie  their  horses  in  front  of  a  farm-house,  and  leaving 
them  absolutely  unguarded,  go  down  the  hill  behind  it  to  secure 
accustomed  supplies  of  buttermilk  for  their  commander,  General 
Martin,  of  Arkansas. 

"It  can't  be  helped,  Captain,"  modestly  suggested  Gillehan,  "but 
we  must  have  these  horses  or  give  up  this  expedition.  I  can't  walk 
any  farther." 

"  It  can't  be  helped  then,"  I  answered,  and  while  two  women  and 
half  a  dozen  tow-headed,  half-naked  children  screamed  and  called 
for  the  "  buttermilk  cavalrymen  "  at  the  spring,  Gillehan  and  I  rode 
rapidly  away. 

"The  children  and  dogs  and  the  women,  the  latter  with  yellow  mops 
in  their  mouths,  pursued  us  only  a  short  distance.  They  could  only 
say  we  were  Confederate  soldiers.  Knowing  that  we  must  return  to 
that  point  during  the  night,  we  informed  the  pickets  of  the  fact,  and 
since  we  might  be  pursued  by  the  enemy's  scouts,  that  we  did  not 
wish  to  be  shot  at.  Orders  were  given  accordingly.  This  provision 
for  our  safety  proved  to  be  the  cause,  as  will  be  seen  hereafter,  of 
terrible  dangers  and  anxieties. 

"General  Martin,  when  he  heard  that  his  buttermilk  supply  train 
had  been  ruthlessly  deprived  of  its  horses  by  Confederate  scouts,  was 
filled  with  wrath.  He  swore  that  military  law  should  be  enforced  and 
the  thieves  shot.  With  his  staff,  he  rode  along  the  lines  to  ascertain 
at  what  point  we  came  in.  When  he  found  that  we  had  gone  out  and 
had  not  entered,  he  waxed  exceeding  wroth.     But  when  he  learned 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  155 

from  the  captain  on  duty  at  the  outpost  that  we  would  soon  return 
and  be  sent  under  guard  to  the  provost  marshal,  General  B.  J.  Hill, 
Martin  left  with  this  captain  enveloped  charges  and  specifications, 
signed  by  himself  and  sworn  to  by  his  robbed  agents.  This  paper,  if 
it  reached  army  headquarters,  would  be  fatal,  as  I  well  knew,  to 
Gillehan  and  myself. 

"After  learning  that  which  we  sought  to  know,  Gillehan  and  I  returned 
to  the  point  on  our  lines,  to  be  sent,  of  course  under  guard,  to  head- 
quarters. The  sun  was  rising  when  we  asked  for  the  guard.  We  saw 
that  something  was  wrong  when  five,  instead  of  two,  men  were  detailed 
for  this  service,  and  I  saw  the  officer  on  duty  give  the  sergeant  in  charge 
of  the  squad  a  large  sealed  envelope  addressed  to  Provost  Marshal 
General  Hill.  How  to  get  possession  of  that  paper  and  its  contents 
was  the  question.  The  sergeant  was  a  rude,  dull  soldier.  He  knew 
nothing  of  the  purpose  of  these  papers.  None  knew  my  name  or 
Gillehan's.  I  would  have  committed  any  act  of  violence  less  than 
murder  to  prevent  the  delivery  of  that  envelope. 

"General  Hill  occupied  a  square,  framed  house  in  Dalton,  having 
a  veranda  in  front.  A  railing  was  extended  across  the  hall  to  exclude 
those  not  invited  to  enter ;  but  scouts  were  ordered  to  enter  instantly 
and  report  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night.  I  preceded  the  sergeant 
to  Hill's  doorway.  I  entered.  The  guard  ordered  the  sergeant  to 
halt.  I  turned  and  said  to  the  sergeant,  '  Give  me  the  envelope 
addressed  to  General  Hill,  and  I  will  deliver  it  and  get  a  pass  that  you 
may  return  to  your  command,  and  then  you  can  go.'  The  unthinking 
soldier  gave  me  the  invaluable  package.  I  thrust  it  beneath  my  blouse, 
and  entering,  greeted  Hill's  adjutant  general,  Miller.  Miller  asked, 
eying  me  suspiciously,  'Why  is  such  a  strong  guard  sent  with  you  this 
morning?'  I  answered,  hesitating  just  a  little,  'O,  I  don't  know,  but 
several  of  the  boys  wished  to  come  into  Dalton,  and  this  duty  of 
guarding  me  served  as  a  pretext.' 

"Miller  wrote  and  signed  the  pass,  and  I  was  delighted  beyond 
measure  when  I  saw  the  stupid  sergeant  and  his  ragged  followers 
gallop  away.  General  Hill,  deeming  my  statements  with  reference  to 
the  movements  of  the  wings  of  Sherman's  army  important,  sent  me  to 
General  Johnston  that  I  might  report  in  person.  I  left  Gillehan  at  the 
tavern  in  Dalton,  instructing  him  to  tie  the  bridle  reins  to  the  saddles 
on  the  two  horses  and  start  them  towards  Martin's  camp.  Horses 
herded  together  in  a  battery  or  cavalry  command  become  as  thoroughly 
identified,  in  feeling  and  attachments,  with  one  another  as  do  their 
riders.  Trained  horses,  after  their  riders  have  fallen  in  fierce  conflicts, 
never  desert  their  colors.  I  knew  that  the  horses  we  had  appropriated, 
when  set  free,  would  return  to  their  masters. 

"The  first  man  I  met  at  General  Johnston's  headquarters  was 
General  Martin.  He  eyed  me  suspiciously,  but  said  nothing.  He 
supposed,  of  course,  that  the  thieving  scouts  were  already  incar- 
cerated. But  nobody  knew  my  real  name  at  headquarters  except 
General   Johnston    and   Adjutant    General    Harvey.     I    recited    my 


156  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

story,  received  my  instructions,  and  when  I  emerged  from  General 
Johnnston's  presence,  again  encountered  General  Martin.  He  was 
telling  Colonel  E.  J.  Harris,  Colonel  Miller,  and  General  Harvey 
of  the  'infernal  daring  theft  of  two  horses  practiced  by  two  scouts.' 
Miller  gave  me  a  most  significant  glance,  but  I  made  no  sign.  I 
heard  Harvey,  General  Johnston's  adjutant  general,  say,  'They  can't 
escape.  There  is  a  pair  of  them,  you  say  ?  and  you  sent  up  the  charges 
with  the  guard  ?  ' 

"  '  O,  yes  ;  d d  them  ! '  answered  Martin. 

"  'Then,'  replied  Colonel  Harvey,  'they  can't  escape.  They  will 
be  in  the  guard-house  before  night  and  under  the  daisies  to-morrow 
morning.' 

"Miller  looked  at  me  pitifully  again.  He  evidently  knew  that  I 
had  appropriated  Martin's  horses  and  stolen  the  'indictment.' 

"  I  did  not  feel  comfortably,  and  silently  beckoned  Miller  to  follow 
me.  He  and  I  went  to  the  tavern.  I  had  brought  in  a  few  Yankee 
luxuries,  and  Miller  loved  delicious  beverages.  Gillehan  had  pre- 
pared dinner,  and  I  produced  a  bottle,  and  then  expounded  General 
Martin's  griefs.  Miller  laughed  till  he  suffered  mortal  anguish. 
We  drank  again,  and  as  he  advised,  I  hurried  away  to  execute  tasks 
imposed  by  the  latest  orders  of  General  Johnston. 

"Then  other  scouts  came  in  from  different  directions  during  the 
day.  General  Martin  still  lounged  about  headquarters.  He  knew 
his  indictment  had  been  sent  up  and  that  the  scout  it  accompanied 
would  be  arrested.  General  Harvey  so  advised  him,  and  so  did 
General  Hill.  But  no  arrest  was  made.  Late  in  the  afternoon, 
Martin  hurried  out  ten  miles  to  see  the  officer  who  had  sent  me 
in  under  guard.  This  officer  could  only  say  that  a  scout  had  gone 
forward  with  a  sergeant  and  five  men  and  that  the  sergeant  had  the 
papers  to  be  delivered  at  headquarters.  Martin  hurried  back  to  Gen- 
eral Hill,  to  be  informed  that  three  scouts  only  had  reported  during 
the  day  and  that  no  papers  came  with  either.  Then  Martin  rode  back 
to  see  the  sergeant.  He  heard  the  simple  story  that  the  papers  were 
delivered  to  the  scout  himself  at  General  Hill's  door.  Again  did 
Martin  fly  to  General  Hill's,  to  find  that  the  bird  had  flown. 

"I  was  already  bending  my  steps  towards' East  Tennessee  to  dis- 
charge a  service  requiring  an  absence  of  two  weeks.  General  Martin 
was  now  advised  that,  though  I  was  a  horse-thief,  I  had  returned  the 
property,  temporarily  appropriated,  and  that  my  recall  was  impossible. 
Colonel  Miller  explained  the  facts  to  Generals  Johnston  and  Hill,  and 
I  would  gladly  tender  this  apologetic  statement  to  General  Martin. 

"By  the  way,"  continued  the  captain,  "I  have  here  a  northern 
newspaper,  the  Cincinnati  Gazette.  It  tells  of  terrible  events  that 
occurred  in  Texas  in  1861.  Mankind  can  never  understand  it,  but  it 
is  true  that  there  was  a  share  of  justification  for  most  horrible  deeds 
ever  done  in  Kansas,  Missouri,  and  Texas..  A  Federal  colonel  in 
Missouri,  McNeil,  caused  a  dozen  or  two  men  to  be  shot,  at  Palmyra 
in  that  State,  in  cold  blood.     When  we  learn  why  this  was  done  the 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  157 

crime  is  so  mitigated  that  many  have  approved  McNeil's  deeds.  So 
it  was  as  regards  terrible  tragedies  that  marked  these  first  days  of  dread- 
ful revolution  in  Texas.  It  was  then  a  sparsely  populated  border  State. 
The  worst  elements  of  eastern  society,  fleeing  from  minions  of  out- 
raged law  in  older  States,  sought  refuge  in  Texas.  In  many  districts 
few  bonds  of  society  or  of  good  government  were  recognized.  Secu- 
rity for  life  and  property  depended  on  each  strong  arm.  Men  differ- 
ing in  reference  to  pending  political  questions  naturally  sought  proper 
affinities,  and  Unionists  were  organized,  as  were  secessionists,  and 
each  dreaded  and  hated  the  other  class.  There  was  not  in  North- 
western Texas  a  more  highly  esteemed  gentleman  than  William  C. 
Young.  He  had  filled  the  office  of  district-attorney  with  distinguished 
ability,  and  was  known  and  beloved  everywhere.  He  and  James 
Bourland,  his  devoted  friend,  were  riding  on  horseback  from  Gaines- 
ville, Texas,  to  Bourland's  home.  Both  were  ardent  secessionists, 
and  Bourland  was  deemed  the  most  influential  and,  perhaps,  the  best 
and  oldest  citizen  of  Northern  Texas.  Colonel  Young  was  shot  down 
by  an  assassin. 

"  The  killing  of  Young  was  the  beginning  of  a  series  of  vengeful 
enormities.     Murder  and  arson  were  incidents  of  everyday  life.     It 
was  ascertained   that  a  plot  was   concocted    involving   the   destruc- 
tion  of  towns   and   villages,    and    the   taking  off  of  Bourland    and 
of  each  prominent  citizen  of  the  country.     Bourland   and   his  friends 
knew  this  to  be  a  fact,  and  the  end  came  after  forty-one  of  the  con- 
spirators were  hanged  to  the  great  elm  tree  at  Gainsville.     Thirteen 
were  hanged,  after  a  fair  trial,   before  a  Judge-Lynch  tribunal,   in 
Flopkins  County  ;  and  three,  I  have  been  told,  under  the  same  circum- 
stances, and  after  full  proof  of  the  criminal  purposes  of  the  accused, 
at  Austin.     When  Federal  generals  came  into  power  in  Texas,  after 
inquiring  into  the  facts  affecting   these  wholesale  executions  by  mob 
law,  they  deemed  it  proper  to  ignore  offenses  of  Bourland,  and  of 
others  like   him,  and   punishment,    after  peace,  was    never    inflicted 
for    terrible    deeds,    justified   perhaps    by  dangers    that    begat    them. 
If   the   editor  of  the    Gazette   had    lived    at    the    time    in   Texas,  he 
would    surely    forgive,    if  he    could    not    forget.     The    people    were 
not  so  bad ;    but  the  times  were  sadly  out  of  joint  and  extraordi- 
nary   dangers    demanded,    in    frontier    communities,    extraordinary 
securities." 

The  newspaper  man  said  that  Bourland  did  not  hang  forty-one  men 
to  the  elm  tree  at  Gainesville  because  these  were  Unionists,  but  simply 
because  internecine  war  demanded  the  extirpation  of  one  or  the  other 
local  party  to  the  conflict.  The  Federal  general,  Curtis,  was  coming- 
down  from  the  Indian  Territory,  it  was  thought,  into  Texas,  and  con- 
spirators at  Gainesville,  in  Hopkins  County,  and  at  Austin,  had 
concerted  plans  to  be  executed  when  Federal  armies  appeared,  involv- 
ing the  extirpation  of  secessionists.  The  discovery  of  plots  of  this 
character  impelled  Bourland  and  others  to  adopt  desperate  remedies 
for  dreadful  evils. 


158  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

"When  I  was  in  Richmond,  not  long  ago,"  said  the  journalist, 
"and  was  clerk  of  a  congressional  committee,  I  ascertained  that  quite 
forty  thousand  Federal  soldiers  had  gone  out  of  East  Tennessee,  and, 
from  states  south  of  the  Ohio,  not  less  than  two  hundred  thousand 
men  had  entered  the  Federal  service.  Suppose  you  deduct  two 
hundred  thousand  from  Grant's  and  Sherman's  armies  and  add  two 
hundred  thousand  to  those  of  Jefferson  Davis.  There  is  instituted  an 
equivalent  of  four  hundred  thousand  men  added  to  Confederate 
strength.  With  this  we  would  surely  defeat  the  North  and  have  on  this 
continent  that  'double-barreled'  Union  for  which  Davis  and  Yancey 
pray.  For  office-holders,  I  confess,  it  would  be  well,  but  I  don't  see 
in  what  the  people  are  to  be  gainers.  Duplication  of  governments 
signifies  quadruplication  of  taxes ;  and  governments  are  only  taxing, 
plundering  schemes  of  law-administration  ;  and  that  which  is  cheapest, 
and  governs  least,  is  commonly  best." 

Mamie  and  Bessie  were  intent  listeners,  and  Spratling  gazed 
abstractedly  into  the  fire-place  when  the  newspaper  man  continued  : 

"Our  stories  have  been  drawn  mainly  from  Tennessee  and  the 
Gulf  States.  While  I  am  dreaming  of  the  results  of  this  fearful  war 
I  would  tell  Bessie  and  Mamie  of  a  little  episode  in  the  history  of 
progressive,  grand  events  which  they  will  never  forget.  I  had  been 
some  days  in  Richmond,  nearly  a  year  ago,  when  the  starving  and 
half-clad  women  at  the  market — most  of  them  widows  of  soldiers  in 
Lee's  army — finding  that  the  money  supplied  would  no  longer  give 
them  bread,  moved  in  a  body  to  the  Capitol.  They  proposed  to 
appeal  for  relief  to  Governor  Letcher.  It  was  an  unique  and  danger- 
ous mob  of  three  or  four  thousand  reckless,  desperate,  hungry,  poorly 
clad  women. 

"  Hearing  the  shrieks  and  screams  of  the  multitude,  I  ran  from  my 
room  to  the  Capitol.  When  I  entered  the  building  the  women  were 
swarming  into  the  open  space  between  Clay's  statue  and  the  monu- 
ments reared  in  honor  of  Jefferson  and  Henry,  and  Governor  Letcher's 
red  head  was  visible  amid  the  throng  rapidly  gathering  upon  the 
portico  of  the  state-house.  I  heard  his  friends  ask,  '  What  can  we  do 
with  them  ? ' 

"'Soldiers  are  helpless  and  useless,'  said  the  governor,  'we  can't 
fire  into  that  mob,  and  the  women  know  it.' 

"I  said  to  the  Governor  that  'a  steam  fire-engine,  guarded  by  a 
military  company  would  put  the  poor  creatures  to  flight.' 

"But  the  governor  relied  upon  fluency  of  speech  and  gentle  per- 
suasiveness and  perhaps  upon  his  good  looks.  The  uglier  a  red-haired, 
red-visaged  man,  the  handsomer  he  esteems  himself.  His  Excellency's 
graces  of  person  and  manner  and  genuine  eloquence  availed  nothing. 

"There  was  a  gigantic,  red-haired  woman — she  looked  like  another 
Letcher,  in  a  homespun  frock — who  led  the  vociferous,  shrieking 
throng.     She  shouted : 

"  '  We  want  bread,  not  words  !     Let  us  help  ourselves  !     Follow  me  !' 

"She  went  rapidly,   throwing  her   hands  wildly  above  her  head, 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  159 

and  shouting  words  of  encouragement  and  exasperation  to  her  lean, 
lank,  meanly-clad,  reckless,  starving  followers.  They  entered  Main 
Street  and  desolated  it.  Storehouses  were  ransacked.  They  burdened 
themselves  with  every  description  of  trumpery  with  which  poverty- 
stricken  trades-people  filled  wretched  shelves.  They  moved  to  the 
quarter-master's  depository  of  army  supplies,  and  expelling  clerks  and 
guards,  freighted  themselves  with  bridles,  saddles,  and  wagon  covers. 
I  saw  a  dozen  women  emerge  from  the  building  with  saddles  on  their 
backs.  When,  at  length,  they  discovered  the  commissariat,  they 
threw  aside  everything  they  had  appropriated  at  other  places,  and 
gathering  up  their  outer  skirts,  filled  their  laps  with  flour  and  sugar. 
Each  sought  to  take  away,  in  this  manner,  the  largest  possible 
quantity,  and  when  each  had  freighted  her  uplifted  dress  with  all  she 
could  carry,  she  started,  bare-legged,  for  her  home.  The  spectacle 
became  as  ludicrous  as  it  was  pitiful.  Merchants  and  soldiers  followed, 
in  the  train  of  this  army  of  hungry  women  gathering  up  their  scat- 
tered wares  and  public  and  private  property.  No  great  losses  were 
sustained,  and  the  incident  only  led  to  the  adoption  of  measures  by 
the  public  authorities  designed  to  prevent  the  recurrence  of  such 
dangers.  Food  was  issued  to  the  poor  wives  and  widows  of  soldiers 
themselves.  But  the  rich  and  those  in  authority  in  Richmond  never 
knew  or  measured  the  woes  and  miseries  of  the  poor.  I  am  sure  an 
illustration  will  interest  Bessie  and  Mamie. 

"  One  Sunday,  while  in  Richmond,  a  few  days  before  the  battle  of 
Chancellorsville,  I  went  to  Hollywood,  the  famed  cemetery  of  Rich- 
mond. Time,  when  peace  is  restored,  will  make  it  an  attractive  spot. 
Though  the  site  is  admirably  chosen,  and  many  of  the  monuments 
costly  and  tasteful,  yet  the  grave-stones  are  all  of  recent  date.  I  never 
cared  to  wander  through  a  grave-yard  in  which  there  are  no  old  tomb- 
stones. Men  just  buried  are  too  nearly  allied  to  the  living.  The 
gulf  that  separates  us  is  neither  deep  nor  wide  enough  to  excite  those 
strangely  sad  emotions  experienced  when  we  decipher  time-worn 
epitaphs,  ascribing  to  ashes  beneath  all  the  virtues  of  our  race.  Two 
ex-presidents  sleep  in  Hollywood  ;  and  not  far  away  there  are  count- 
less graves  of  soldiers  of  the  South,  the  victims  of  insatiate  revolution. 
Monumental  marble  will  designate  the  resting  places  of  statesmen  who 
achieved  all  the  ends  of  human  ambition,  but  the  graves  of  soldiers 
who  gave  their  lives,  as  they  believed,  for  their  country's  emancipa- 
tion, have  no  marks  to  distinguish  burial  places  in  which  truest  repre- 
sentatives of  unselfish  patriotism  have  returned  to  dust.  When  war  no 
longer  desolates  the  land,  when  prosperity  reigns,  and  a  grateful 
people  would  honor  the  illustrious  dead,  there  will  not  be  wanting  a 
mausoleum  to  tell  posterity  that  Hollywood  is  consecrated  in  a 
nation's  heart.  There  they  lie,  beneath  those  little  hillocks,  with 
rude  boards  as  head-stones,  the  gallant  men  who  fell  in  all  the  battles 
around  Richmond.  There,  too,  are  those  whose  lives  went  away  from 
bodies  racked  with  pain  in  Richmond  hospitals.  Mothers  and  wives 
and  sisters  shall  visit  Hollywood  through  many  coming  years,  from  all 


160  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

the  Southern  States,  that  they  may  view  the  spot  where  the  loved  and 
lost  repose  in  undistinguished  graves. 

"I  stood  upon  holy  ground. 

"The  funeral  train  of  poverty  came  in  at  the  gateway  as  I  was 
going  out.  A  market  wagon  contained  a  little  coffin  of  rough  boards. 
A  gray-haired  negro  was  the  driver,  and  three  women,  an  old  man, 
and  half  a  dozen  thinly-clad  little  girls  and  boys  followed  very  slowly — 
all  with  measured  steps  and  sad  faces.  As  I  was  going  out  a  little  girl, 
eight  or  nine  years  old,  poorly  clad,  was  closing  the  gate.  Her  face 
was  pretty,  and  her  large  lustrous  eyes  grew  bright  when  I  asked 
the  name  of  the  occupant  of  the  coffin.  She  seemed  to  think  that 
everybody  should  know  that  '  Mary '  was  dead. 

"  '  It  is  strange  you  did  not  know  Mary.  I  thought  almost  every- 
body knew  her.  She  was  so  good,  and  gentle,  and  kind,  and  she  was 
her  mother's  only  child.      I  went  to  school  with  Mary.' 

"The  simplicity  and  earnestness  of  the  child  interested  me.  I 
wished  to  know  more  of  Mary  and  of  that  poor,  heart-broken  woman, 
so  meanly  attired,  who  was  following  with  unsteady  steps  her  only 
child  to  the  grave,  I  cannot,  of  course,  give  the  language  of  the 
little  girl,  but  she  said  : 

"  '  When  I  used  to  look  at  Mary  I  wondered  how  people  could  ever 
call  her  homely  ;  there  were  so  many  shades  of  color  in  her  eyes  when 
I  was  talking  to  her,  and  the  blood  would  come  and  go  in  her  pale 
cheeks.  She  used  to  help  the  little  children  across  the  muddy  streets 
and  give  away  her  scanty  meal  to  some  poor  child  who  was  hungry  at 
school.  She  would  teach  me,  too,  the  hard,  long  words  in  my  geog- 
raphy. When  the  other  girls  made  fun  of  my  dress  because  it  had  holes 
in  it,  and  my  mother  there,  who  is  poor,  like  Mary's,  could  not  buy 
me  another,  Mary  used  to  put  her  arms  around  me  to  conceal  the  rents. 
I  used  to  think  there  was  a  pretty  light  around  Mary's  sweet  face,  like 
that  which  mother  showed  me  in  the  picture  of  our  Savior.  Those  who 
did  not  know  Mary  well,  did  not  think  she  was  so  beautiful,  but  we 
little  children  did.  She  was  kindest  and  gentlest  to  the  poorest  of 
us.' 

"  I  had  never  listened  to  an  eulogium  upon  the  dead  more  touching 
than  this  which  fell  from  the  tremulous  lips  and  tearful  eyes  of  Mary's 
friend. 

"  She  is  not  homely  now.  The  bright  sun  when  it  goes  down  again 
upon  the  little  childish  group  who  come  tripping  out  of  the  old  school- 
house  shall  not  add  luster  to  the  changeful  eyes  and  pale  cheeks  of 
Mary  ;  her  seat  in  school  is  vacant ;  her  satchel  lies  idly  on  the  shelf. 
The  spider  will  weave  his  busy  web  upon  the  wall  in  Mary's  garret, 
but  there  are  no  lustrous  loving  eyes  to  watch  him.  The  heart-broken 
mother  shall  often  dream  that  she  hears,  and  listen  in  vain  for  the  soft, 
sweet  accents  of  little  Mary's  voice  ;  she  shall  see  Mary,  not  here,  and 
many  like  her  of  whom  the  earth  was  not  worthy. 

"  How  coldly  and  rudely  the  clods  that  struck  Mary's  coffin  fell 
upon  that  mother's  heart !     A  piercing  shriek  escaped  her  lips.     Then 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  i6r 

all  was  still  again,  except  the  falling  of  the  dull,  heavy  earth  with 
which  the  old  man  filled  the  shallow  grave.  When  all  were  leaving 
the  place,  I  asked  the  school-child  friend  of  Mary  how  she  came  to 
die. 

"  'I  don't  know,'  she  answered;  '  Mother  said  that  the  war  took 
bread  from  the  poor  in  Richmond,  and  Mary's  mother  is  very,  very 
poor.' 

"I  never  think  of  these  facts  or  of  the  miseries  and  vices  of  our 
race  precipitated  by  this  wicked,  needless,  fratricidal  war  that  I  do 
not  involuntarily  ask  whether  they  who  deem  themselves  statesmen, 
and  as  such  inaugurated  this  conflict  or  made  it  unavoidable,  will  not 
be  consigned  to  deeper  depths  of  perdition  by  an  outraged  God  of 
goodness  than  that  which  must  be  fathomed  by  common  soldiers 
like  ourselves.  William  L.  Yancy,  Jefferson  Davis,  A.  G.  Brown, 
Toombs,  Wigfall,  and  the  many  like  them,  who  followed  in  Yancy's 
wake,  constituted  the  dragon  of  the  Apocalypse  with  seven  heads  and 
ten  horns  whose  tail  drew  after  it  'the  stars  of  heaven  and  did  cast  them 
to  earth.'  I  do  not  question  their  honesty  or  patriotism,  mark  you  ; 
but  only  ask  whether  they  have  not  outrivaled  a  De  Golyer  in  paving 
hell  with  good  intentions." 

ii 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


Woes  of  the  People. — How  Endured. — An  Ancient  Georgia  Village. — Curious  Story 
about  Governor  Gilmer  and  William  H.  Crawford. — Slave  Life  Fifty  Years  Ago. 
— Joseph  Henry  Lumpkin. — How  African  Slavery  became  African  Servitude. 
— Providential  Preparation  for  Freedom, 

The  very  day  that  the  captain  and  Spratling  returned  to  camp, 
Tunnel  Hill  and  Dalton  were  evacuated  by  the  Confederates  and  our 
way  was  open  to  the  home  of  Mamie  Hughes.  There  Bessie  and  her 
mother  were  gladly  welcomed.  Their  purpose  was  to  remain  only  a 
day  and  then  go  further  south  to  their  old  home  in  Oglethorpe 
County. 

Mamie  said,  when  she  and  Bessie  met,  "that  the  invitation,  sent 
long  before,  had  been  accepted  most  unexpectedly.  I  am  glad,"  she 
continued,  "that  you  are  here,  but  deplore  the  calamity  that  sent  you 
to  our  home." 

Bessie's  father  had  gone  to  Oglethorpe  and  could  not  return  because 
of  the  intervention  of  our  army.  It  was  necessary  to  communicate 
with  him,  and  Mrs.  Starnes  was  persuaded  to  remain  with  her  newly- 
made  friends  until  she  could  advise  her  husband  of  misfortunes  that 
overwhelmed  her. 

Such  calamities  were  too  numberless  to  excite  sympathy,  and,  of 
every-day  occurrence,  were  borne  as  complacently  by  the  immediate 
sufferers  as  by  their  friends.  People  soon  forgot  the  fallen  when  each 
day's  list  of  the  dead  was  countless.  Death,  in  war,  has  no  terrors, 
save  for  the  dying.  Hunger  and  suffering  are  laughed  at  because 
death,  the  gate-way  of  escape,  is  so  accessible.  Courage,  in  such  an 
age,  is  the  only  virtue  worth  the  having;  and  he  who  shuddered 
when  wealth  became  indigence,  was  the  veriest  of  cowards. 

"When  the  Confederacy  rises  in  the  ruins  of  Lincoln's  empire 


> 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  163 

said  Mrs.   Starnes,  "I  will  still  own  the  farm,  and  Mr.  Spratlirig  says 
he  will  reconstruct  my  modest  dwelling." 

Spratling,  now  an  unwilling  ^zjz'-in valid,  was  confined  to  the  house 
by  the  imperious  edicts  of  Bessie  and  Mamie.  His  neglected  wound 
was  painful,  the  shoulder  swollen,  and  left  arm  useless.  Wholesome 
food  and  women's  watchful  care  wrought  a  speedy  change,  and  when 
dancing  at  night  and  hunting  by  day  and  stories  of  army  life  during 
the  long  evenings  were  indulged,  delicious  odors  of  pine  and  cedar 
wood  fires  perfuming  the  commodious  country  house,  Spratling  rapidly 
regained  his  wonted  vigor. 

The  captain  could  not  abandon  Spratling;  the  editor  and  school- 
master were  free  to  depart  or  remain;  the  editor's  brother,  like  the 
Federal  lieutenant,  Hughes,  had  a  month's  furlough. 

A  trusted  negro  servant  was  dispatched  for  Mr.  Starnes,  to  Lexing- 
ton, in  Oglethorpe  County,  the  most  venerable  in  its  apparent 
antiquity  of  all  the  towns  of  Georgia.  Green  moss,  on  great  boulders 
along  white  sandy  roadways  leading  into  the  ancient  town,  is  growing 
gray.  Myriads  of  pebbles  in  the  long-used  streets  are  worn  perfectly 
round  by  gliding  feet  of  successive  generations,  and  Sunday-school 
"scholars"  are  relieved  of  the  necessity  of  buying  marbles.  Bob 
Toombs  and  Chief  Justice  Joseph  Henry  Lumpkin  used  to  live  in 
Lexington ;  but  when  the  antique  metropolis  of  Oglethorpe,  fifty 
years  ago>  was  finished  and  fenced  in,  they  were  left  outside  and 
migrated.  They  grew  great;  Lexington  stood  still.  The  venerable 
village  could  not  contain  them.  In  years  long  agone,  William  H. 
Crawford — deemed  by  the  great  Napoleon  the  greatest  of  Americans — 
had  his  home  at  Lexington. 

"There,"  said  the  newspaper  man,  "I  saw  this  grand  old  man  in 
extreme  old  age  after  he  had  been  almost  President  of  the  United 
States,  having  competed  for  the  office  with  Jackson,  Clay,  and  Adams — 
I  saw  this  gigantic  old  civilian,  in  my  childhood,  sitting  on  the  circuit 
bench  and  determining  a  criminal  prosecution  in  which  Joseph  Henry 
Lumpkin  appeared  for  the  defendant,  an  aged  man,  accused  of  steal- 
ing a  sheep.  He  was  palpably  guilty;  but  Lumpkin's  matchless 
eloquence  won  an  acquittal,  when  Crawford,  chiding  the  jury  for  its 
tears  and  weakness,  set  aside  the  verdict  and  ordered  a  new  trial. 

"This  William  H.  Crawford  was  the  only  American,  perhaps,  who 
knew  the  great  Napoleon,  personally  and  intimately.  Among  his 
private  papers  there  were  found,  after  his  death,  kindliest  letters,  I  am 
told,  from  the  great  emperor.  Napoleon  could  afford  to  deal  with  the 
great  American  as  an  equal  and  as  a  friend  when  state  policy  would 
not  suffer  him  to  unbend  in  the  presence  of  a  subject. 

"The  other  great  man  of  Lexington,  Joseph  Henry  Lumpkin,  was 
the  unrivaled  barrister  till  he  became  the  matchless  judge.  His 
learning,  genius,  and  logical  acumen  compelled  his  professional 
elevation.  He  was  a  native-born  abolitionist.  When  at  college,  at 
Princeton  or  Yale,  he  adopted  and  expressed  opinions  on  the  subject  of 
negro  servitude  that  enabled  his  pro-slavery  rivals  to  defeat  his  honorable 


1 64  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

aspirations.  But  such  were  his  unapproachable  forensic  abilities  that 
the  lawyers  of  Georgia  were  forced  to  remove  him  from  their  sphere  of 
action.  No  sentence  of  death  could  be  pronounced  if  Joseph  Henry 
Lumpkin  appealed  to  the  jury,  and,  therefore,  the  orator  was  merged 
into  the  judge.  His  opinions,  as  Chief  Justice  of  Georgia,  are  as 
admirable  specimens  of  rhetorical  logic  as  the  finest  that  ever  fell  from 
the  lips  of  the  greatest  Lord  Chancellor. 

"But  I  may  be  impelled  to  speak  by  the  prejudices  of  my  youth," 
continued  the  editor.  "I  was  not  four  years  old  when  I  saw  the  aged 
William  H.  Crawford  sleeping  on  the  wool-sack  in  Lexington,  while 
Joseph  Henry  Lumpkin  flooded  the  court-room  with  tears  because  a 
gray-haired  country  bumpkin  was  forced  by  pangs  of  poverty  to  steal 
a  sheep. 

"George  R.  Gilmer,  when  I  was  a  boy,  still  lived  in  Lexington. 
He,  too,  was  then  very  old.  In  another  place  I  have  written  of  his 
archaeological  tastes  and  pursuits,  and  of  the  care  and  toil  and 
money  he  devoted  to  the  collection  of  antique  and  other  curiosities 
of  taste  and  learning.  He  had  been  governor  and  served  in  both 
branches  of  the  United  States  Congress.  He  was  the  kindliest, 
most  generous  of  men.  I  would  never  have  violated  a  mound- 
builder's  tomb  or  traced  De  Soto's  devious  path  across  the  Gulf 
States  if  I  had  not  heard  Governor  Gilmer  descant  upon  dim  out- 
lines of  giant  figures  that  peopled  realms  of  his  fancy  with  splendid 
visions  of  war,  peace,  homes,  and  cities  of  extinct  races." 

The  schoolmaster  had  been  listening  intently  while  the  newspaper 
man  was  reviving  phantom  figures  of  departed  greatness  and  when  the 
fire  burned  low  and  kettle  lid  rattled  and  escaping  steam  sang  a  lullaby 
that  begat  silence  and  somnolency,  the  pedagogue  said  that,  in  1832, 
then  a  very  young  man,  he  taught  a  country  school  near  Carter's 
Hill,  in  Montgomery  County,  Alabama. 

"Ingrams,  Carters,  Floyds,  Barnets,  Lees,  Wares,  Mooneys,  Gil- 
mers,  Merriwethers,  and  Du  Pres  were  household  names  and  words 
in  the  modest  log-cabin  in  which  I  flogged  limited  learning  into  tow- 
headed  urchins.  I  am  induced  to  refer  to  these  facts  because  I 
remember  that  one  of  my  'patrons'  was  induced  by  another  to  convey 
a  letter  enclosing  a  one  thousand  dollar  United  States  bank-note  to 
Governor  Gilmer.  Mr.  D.  delivered  the  letter  to  Governor  Gilmer, 
telling  him  of  its  contents,  and  he  remembered  that  the  governor 
threw  it  carlessly  into  a  desk.  Two  years  elapsed.  Governor  Gilmer 
demanded  payment  by  letter.  The  debtor  wrote  that  he  had  sent  the 
money  by  Mr.  D.,  his  neighbor,  an  honest  man.  The  governor 
answered  that  he  had  never  received  it.  Mr.  D.  mounted  his  horse — 
there  were  no  railways  in  those  days — and  went  to  Lexington,  more 
than  three  hundred  miles.  Governor  Gilmer,  when  his  old  friend 
came,  had  no  recollection  of  the  letter;  but  Mr.  D.  had  forgotten 
nothing.  He  went  to  the  room  in  which  the  governor  was  sitting 
when  he  delivered  the  bank-note  two  years  before;  he  caused  the  desk 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  165 

to  be  opened  and  there  found  the  letter,  its  waxen  seal  unbroken, 
containing  the  money.  Governor  Gilmer's  chagrin  was  painful  and 
lasting,  so  my  friend,  the  Alabamian,  informed  me.  Whenever,  after- 
ward, the  Alabamian  visited  his  kindred  about  Lexington,  he  was 
always  entertained  at  a  festival  given  by  Governor  Gilmer." 

The  newspaper  man  left  his  seat  and  stood  facing  the  schoolmaster. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  the  writer  for  the  press,  "that  he  was  my 
father  who  bore  that  letter  to  Governor  Gilmer?  I  was  not  old  enough 
to  go  to  school  when  you  taught  near  Carter's  Hill,  but  I  knew  after- 
ward, all  the  people  you  have  named.  I  remember  when  the  Creek 
Indians  burned  the  houses  and  slaughtered  the  people  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. I  remember  how  they  slew  eight  of  nine  passengers  on  the 
stage  coach  just  after  it  left  Montgomery." 

Of  course  the  pedagogue  had  forgotten  nothing  of  facts  to  which 
the  journalist  adverted.  He  confessed  a  fresh  bond  of  union  between 
himself  and  friend  and  said  that  "churches,  newspapers,  and  school- 
masters had  done  a  great  work  in  Alabama  in  a  brief  period.  Red 
men  have  disappeared,  there  are  free  schools  and  free  churches  and 
people  everywhere,  and  railways  and  steamers  and  the  highest  progres- 
sive intelligence  and  civilization.  Less  than  thirty  years  have  passed, 
within  which  all  this  has  been  achieved.  Montgomery,  the  wretched 
little  village  of  one  hundred  cabins  when  I  first  saw  it,  has  fifteen 
thousand  inhabitants. 

"But  they  were  a  rude  people  when  I  wielded  the  birchen  rod  in 
the  log  cabin  near  Carter's  Hill,  ten  or  twelve  miles  from  Montgom- 
ery. I  saw  a  farmer  sell  his  good-looking  wife,  a  pretty  white  woman 
she  was,  for  a  thousand  dollars  to  a  richer  neighbor;  I  saw  Kin 
Mooney  playing  poker  with  a  friend,  at  five  dollars  a  game,  in  the  log 
church,  which  was  also  the  schoolhouse,  on  Sunday,  while  the  good  Bap- 
tist brother,  Jack  Robinson,  expounded  the  scriptures  in  this  sanctuary. 
I  saw  a  savage  overseer  tie  a  negro  slave,  Patrick  by  name,  to  a  log  and 
draw  a  wild  black  cat,  by  the  tail,  down  the  negro's  naked  back,  from 
his  shoulders  to  his  heels.  The  infernal  process  was  thrice  repeated. 
Patrick  shrieked  and  swooned.  A  strong  solution  of  salt  and  vinegar 
was  then  poured  over  the  senseless  negro's  back.  When  he  recovered 
his  senses  he  was  gagged.  He  wore  the  gag,  constantly  moving  it  to 
one  side,  till  it  carved  a  slit  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  The  hapless 
negro  could  talk  a  little  and  drink  a  little,  still  wearing  the  'gag.  It 
was  made  of  iron,  having  hinges,  and  was  locked  behind  his  neck.  A 
fiat  piece  of  iron,  projecting  inwardly,  from  the  rim,  entered  the 
mouth.  I  describe  it  because,  having  lived  always  in  the  South,  it 
was  the  only  'gag'  I  ever  saw.  When  Patrick  could  talk,  eat  and  drink, 
wearing  the  gag,  the  overseer  belled  him.  An  iron  belt  about  the 
body  and  another  around  the  neck  sustained  an  iron  rod  extending 
along  the  spine,  three  feet  above  Patrick's  head.  To  the  end  of  this 
rod  a  bell  was  attached;  and,  wearing  all  this  machinery  of  iron, 
Patrick  was  forced  by  the  fiend  incarnate  to  pick  cotton.  The 
incentive  to  this  cruelty  was  jealousy  of  Patrick's  influence  with  his 


1 66  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

master,  then  absent.  When  he  came  home,  Patrick,  of  course,  was 
liberated,  given  a  gun,  and  instructed  to  settle  with  the  overseer.  He, 
hearing  of  the  course  of  events,  fled  to  Texas. 

"  There  was  African  slavery  in  those  days.  It  is  African  servitude 
now.  The  relations  of  the  races,  as  seen  in  the  conduct  of  those 
about  us,  even  now  listening  to  what  I  say,  and  shuddering  while  I 
tell  of  the  woes  of  Patrick,  show  that  African  slavery,  even  if  party 
leaders  had  never  organized  war  in  organizing  secession,  was  no  more. 
African  'slavery'  does  not  exist,  and  only  African  'servitude. '  Within 
these  brief  thirty  years  the  institution  has  been  wholly  changed  with 
the  relations  of  the  two  races.  Providence,  it  seems,  prepared  whites 
and  blacks,  by  slow,  inscrutable  processes,  for  the  social  conditions 
and  facts  of  to-day.  On  the  statute-books  of  states,  slave  codes 
remain  unrepealed ;  but  they  are  obsolete,  and  have  been  for  years. 
Politicians  rave  and  roar,  and  abuse  one  another,  and  excite  infinite 
sectional  prejudices. 

"Fearing  they  may  be  reviled  as  abolitionists,  our  party  leaders 
dare  not  reform  barbarous  slave  codes,  and  these  have  slowly  lapsed, 
unrepealed,  into  desuetude.  The  law  inhibits  books  and  yet  negroes 
are  everywhere  taught  to  read  and  write.  Preachers  are  hired  every- 
where to  preach  especially  in  negro  churches,  and  the  story  I  tell  of 
Patrick's  woes,  which  I  witnessed,  could  gain  credence  on  no  southern 
plantation  of  to-day." 


CAHAPER  XXIV. 


The  Negro  as  an  Inseparable  Adjunct  of  Southern  Industry. — "  Missis,  de  Yanks 
is  acomin'." — The  Schoolmaster  on  the  Character  and  Conduct  of  the  Negro. — 
"  Yaller-Gal  Angels." 

How  thoroughly  a  soldier  becomes  part  and  parcel  of  a  great  mass, 
losing  consciousness  of  individuality,  we  have  seen,  and  how,  there- 
fore, esprit  de  corps  supplants  personal  heroism,  and  how  one  strong 
man,  of  any  race  or  latitude,  becomes  as  valuable  as  any  other  of  equal 
strength,  was  often  asserted  and  illustrated  when  Major-General  Pat 
Cleburne  and  many  others  of  the  best  and  wisest  soldiers  and  states- 
men of  the  South,  in  1863-64,  urged  the  enlistment  as  soldiers,  and 
liberation  as  men,  of  the  negroes  of  the  South.  Destiny  and  Jefferson 
Davis  interposed  and  Africa  was  freed  by  the  North  and  not  by  the 
South.  Thus  the  negro,  an  inseperable  adjunct  of  southern  industry, 
civilization,  and  government,  loves,  obeys,  and  serves  the  North,  and 
always,  in  affairs  of  government,  involving  freedom  and  slavery,  obeys 
the  injunctions  of  northern  party  leaders. 

At  Mamie's  home  there  were  more  than  three  hundred  slaves. 
Until  Lieutenant  Hughes  and  his  friends  came,  the  helpless  household 
had  no  other  guardians  than  these  negroes  and  none  could  have  given 
more  perfect  security.  They  were  devoted  to  the  persons  and  interests 
of  their  white  owners,  and  never  was  a  suspicion  entertained,  even 
when  detatchments  of  Federal  cavalry  traversed  the  country  in  all 
directions,  and  these  negroes  knew  how  thoroughly  "the  shell  of  the 
hollow  Confederacy  was  broken,"  that  negroes  plotted  against  the 
security  of  the  whites. 

It  happened,  at  the  period  of  which  these  pages  tell,  that  the 
Confederate  forces  were  slowly  and  constantly  retreating.  Even  while 
the  captain  and  his  friends  were  guests  of  Lieutenant  Hughes,  and 
while  pretty  Bessie  Starnes,  half  crazed  by  her  affection  for  the  Lieu- 
tenant and  admiration  and  love  of  Spratling,  the  Confederate  army 


1 68  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

was  slowly  and  sullenly  moving  south  toward  Resaca  and  Adairsville,. 
leaving  this  summer  residence  of  the  Hughes  family  within  the  Federal 
lines. 

Of  the  retrogression  of  the  Confederate  forces,  inmates  of  the 
Hughes  household  were  first  advised  by  the  appearance  at  the  place  of 
four  mounted  men  in  blue  overcoats.  A  breathless,  excited  negro, 
entering  the  breakfast  room,  where  the  family  were  seated  at  table, 
announced : 

"Missis,  de  Yanks  is  acummin'  down  dar  in  de  road.  Dere  won't 
be  nary  chicken  left  on  de  place!"  and  Jack  rubbed  his  hands- 
together,  and  amazed  by  the  excitement  he  begat,  set  his  back  against 
the  wall,  and  grinned  and  twisted  his  body  and  looked  from  right  to 
left,  and  when  asked  again  and  again,  "  How  many  Yanks  are  there?" 
he  only  stared  vacantly  in  the  faces  of  his  inquisitors. 

Spratling  forgot  his  wound,  and  with  the  rest,  armed  himself,  and 
went  out.  The  prowling  cavalrymen  did  not  propose  to  encounter  a 
number  of  men  greater  than  their  own,  and  at  once  retired.  No 
shots  were  fired,  but  the  Confederates  knew  that  these  four  would  be 
fifty  Federal  soldiers  when  next  a  descent  was  made  upon  the  planta- 
tion of  Mrs.  Hughes. 

•'Three  or  four  days  hence,"  said  the  captain,  "these  scouts  will 
have  returned  to  camp  and  told  of  our  presence  here.  A  force  will 
be  sent  to  capture  such  stragglers  as  we  are  and  to  gather  in  deserters 
voluntarily  remaining  at  points  recently  occupied  by  Confederates. 
We  must  move  at  an  early  day. 

"Lieutenant,"  he  continued,  addressing  Mr.  Hughes,  "I  don't 
know  whether  I  will  regret  more  the  termination  of  this  delightful  visit 
or  the  necessity  which  requires  you  to  accompany  us.  If  I  can,  when  I 
return  to  General  Cleburne's  head-quarters,  I  will  make  some  arrange- 
ment by  which  you  may  not  be  sent  to  a  prison-pen.  No  exchanges 
are  made;  the  Confederacy  is  starving;  its  soldiers  are  often  half  fed;, 
and  the  condition  of  prisoners  of  war  must  be  horrible.  Soldiers  are 
worth  more  to  us  than  to  you,  and  you  can  not  afford  to  exchange, 
when  your  resources  are  infinite  as  humanity  and  ours  are  restricted 
to  sparse  populations  of  the  Gulf  States.  It  is  a  great  pity  that  the 
cartel  is  suspended ;  and  I  must  confess  that,  while  we  are  delighted 
as  your  guests,  we  are  grieved  that  you  are  our  prisoner.  By  remain- 
ing, we  can  not  serve  you  or  those  dear  to  you.  Our  presence  will 
only  invite  attack.  If  we  won  at  first,  we  would  surely  be  overwhelmed 
at  last.  This  might  involve  the  safety  of  women  and  destruction  of 
your  delightful  home. 

"We  must  soon  march." 

This  was  said  in  the  presence  of  the  household  gathered  in  the 
hallway.  Mrs.  Hughes  gazed  tenderly  in  the  face  of  her  son.  She 
deplored  his  fate  from  which  there  was  seemingly  no  escape,  He  was 
paroled  and  could  not  fly,  even  if  an  opportunity  were  presented.  If 
captured  by  Federal  soldiers,  he  could  save  himself  and  guard  his  home,, 
with  those   he   loved.     He  was  silent  and  helpless  as   the   mother. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  169 

Neither  Bessie  nor  Mamie  lifted  their  eyes  from  the  floor.  Bessie 
knew  that  Spratling  and  the  lieutenant  were  studying  her  face,  and 
Mamie  could  only  listen,  while  the  color  fled  from  her  cheeks,  as 
measured  words  fell  slowly  from  the  captain's  lips,  announcing  her 
separation  from  him  and  from  her  brother. 

"In  times  like  these,  when  we  part,  we  can  never  hope  to  meet 
again,"  said  the  tearful  Mrs.  Hughes.  "Some  one  or  more  may 
return,  but  all  of  you,  never!  never!  It  is  dreadful  to  think,  but 
when  I  see  you  strong  men  going  out  of  my  door,  I  see  you  stepping 
down  into  your  graves.  I  am  grateful  because  you  have  been  so 
generous  to  my  son,  and  it  is  no  fault  of  yours  that  he  must  leave  me. 
My  prayers  and  blessings  will  follow  you." 

Death-like  pallor  swept  over  the  faces  of  Bessie  and  Mamie.  The 
facts  of  the  moment  were  too  painful  for  their  contemplation.  Mamie 
caught  Bessie's  hand  and  drawing  her  to  her  side,  both,  with  bowed 
heads,  hurried  silently  away.  Mrs.  Hughes  followed,  and  the  sad 
convocation  was  slowly  dissolved. 

When  we  sat,  that  cool  winter  evening,  about  the  broad,  blazing 
hearth,  the  schoolmaster  said  "he  had  been  studying  the  character  and 
conduct  of  negroes  all  his  life.  While  they  do  no  violent  deeds  and 
share,  as  a  race,  in  none  of  the  toils  or  dangers  incident  to  their  own 
deliverance,  they  rarely  fail  to  show,  when  the  test  is  applied,  that 
they  prefer  freedom  to  servitude. 

"They  have  uniformly  forgotten  personal  attachments,  such  as 
subsist  between  your  servants,  Lieutenant,  and  yourself,  to  show  that 
they  prefer  freedom  to  slavery.  They  uniformly  betray  the  Confed- 
erates and  however  earnest  in  assertions  of  personal  devotion  to  their 
owners,  are  privately  and  really  loyal  to  the  Union.  I  have  found, 
to  the  extent  that  their  intelligence  may  make  them  trustworthy,  that 
they  are  useful  and  efficient  spies.  They  never  fail  to  disclose  places 
of  concealment  of  persons  and  property,  and  evince,  always,  .  to 
the  extent  that  they  deem  it  safe,  unmixed  loyalty  to  the  'Stars 
and  Stripes.'  I  tell  you  this  because  I  have  seen  how  this  family  is 
disposed  to  trust,  implicitly,  the  asserted  fidelity  of  these  negroes.  I 
tell  you,  Lieutenant,  your  mother  will  be  betrayed  by  them.  She  will 
lose  every  valuable  article  she  conceals  if  these  'devoted  household 
servants'  suspect  the  place  of  concealment.  The  poor  negro  thinks 
to  aid  and  thus  win  favor  in  the  eyes  of  blue-coated  patriotism  by 
betraying  these  confidences.  The  blue-coat  never  shares  the  spoils 
with  the  negro.  The  negro  does  not  ask  it.  His  impulses  are  higher 
and  nobler  than  those  of  the  white  man.  He  would  only  serve  the 
cause  this  white  man  espouses.  The  white  man — the  camp-follower 
and  not  the  soldier — is  content  if  he  may  fill  his  purse. 

"Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  you  may  direct  any  genuine  bullet- 
headed  African  to  do  any  three  acts,  and  that  he  will  obey,  but  never 
discharging  the  three  tasks  in  the  order  in  which  you  name  them? 
His  head  is  too  thick  for  him  to  think  consecutively.  He  never  recks 
of  the  morrow.     He  is  always  perfectly  blest   in  the  abundance  of 


170  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

to-day.  Is  not  this  race-peculiarity  to  be  ascribed  to  race-habits,  the 
outgrowth  of  countless  centuries  of  slavery?  They  have  never  been 
subjected  to  the  necessity  of  providing  for  present  or  future  wants. 
Their  own  needs  have  never  shaped  their  actions;  and,  therefore,  their 
boundless  unselfishness,  and  their  heedlessness  and  incapacity  to  think 
for  the  future.  Their  round,  thick  skulls  and-  brain-forces  are  con- 
formed to  facts  and  necessities  of  centuries. 

"It  is  true  that  in  wide  districts  of  the  Gulf  States,  denuded  by 
conscription  of  arms-bearing  whites,  negroes  outnumbering  whites  as  ten 
and  twenty  to  one,  there  has  occurred  no  negro  outbreak.  There  is  no 
negro  criminality,  and  perfect  order,  peace,  security,  and  industry  are 
maintained.  Confederate  armies  are  fed  and  clothed  and  kept  in  the 
field  by  negro  industry;  but  let  me  assure  you  that  each  negro,  the  old 
and  the  young,  seeks  freedom,  and  prefers  it  even  to  this  serfdom  or 
peonage  subsisting  on  this  estate,  or  ranche,  as  termed  in  Mexico. 
Wherever  liberated  they  have  never  consented  to  re-enslavement,  and  it 
is  most  fortunate  that  they  have  been  gradually  elevated  by  'slavery,' 
which  has  become  'servitude,'  and  then  serfdom,  while  local  statutes 
remained  unchanged  and  unenforced.  The  frightful  quarrel  between  the 
abolitionists  and  secessionists  made  local  statutory  law  irrepealable,  but 
the  negro  code,  like  the  fact  of  original  African  slavery,  fell  of  its  own 
bloody,  barbarous  weight  into  desuetude.  The  age  of  preparation  is 
passed,  and  that  of  realization,  perhaps,  is  come.  Who  can  fathom 
the  mysteries  of  God's  providence  in  His  dealings  with  races  and 
nations? 

"Wherever  liberated,  as  I  have  seen  in  Tennessee  and  Kentucky, 
these  creatures  have  wandered  away  at  once  from  their  homes.  They 
can  not  otherwise  realize  the  fact  of  absolute  freedom.  They  could 
not  otherwise  enjoy  it  to  their  full  bent.  The  'old  massa's'  presence 
and  supreme  authority  was  still  confessed  in  the  old  cabin  occupied 
through  a  lifetime  of  servitude,  and  they  could  only  divest  themselves 
of  its  influence  by  going  into  exile.  But,  wherever  freed,  they  have 
sought  supposed  delights  incident  to  freedom,  which  never  come. 
They  are  still  slaves;  not  of  the  white  man,  but  of  hunger  and  thirst 
and  cold. 

"The  forty  acres  and  a  mule  have  never  descended,  as  did  the 
beasts  of  the  fields  in  a  curtain  suspended  before  St.  Peter,  from  the 
opened  heavens,  upon  the  hapless  African.  After  a  time  these 
liberated  blacks  will  realize  exactions  imposed  by  nature's  laws,  and 
there  is  not  on  God's  footstool  a  better  laboring  population,  or  one 
more  simple  and  kindly,  more  contented  or  law-abiding.  As  we  see 
them  in  the  rich  cotton  and  sugar  producing  districts  to-day,  where 
they  are  still  slaves,  so  will  they  be  when  freedom  strikes  shackles 
from  their  souls.  Such  masters  as  you,  Lieutenant,  can  lose  nothing 
by  the  extinction  of  the  la-aj  of  slavery ;  the  practical  fact,  if  it  be  a 
fact  here  to-day,  will  still  subsist." 

"Yes,"  interposed  Spratling,  who  had  been  listening  drowsily  to 
this  soliloquy  of  the  pedagogue,  while  the  captain  on  one  side  of  the 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  171 

room  with  Mamie,  and  Bessie  and  the  lieutenant  on  the  other, 
spoke  at  intervals,  in  subdued  tones, — "Yes,"  said  Spratling,  "I 
asked  that  black  rascal  who  pretended  to  be  so  badly  scared  this 
morning  when  the  Yankee  scouts  came,  what  he  proposed  to  do  when 
he  was  set  free. 

"  'I  dunno,  massa,'  he  answered,  'but  I'z  gwine  to  sleep  in  de  sun- 
shine, ropped  up  in  pancakes,  en  yaller-gal  angels,  dey'll  pore  lasses 
ober  me.'  " 

"There's  a  heavenly  picture  of  perfect  negro  beatitude,  and  its 
realization  is  coming,"  said  the  schoolmaster. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


Newspaper  Life. — Journalism  under  Difficulties. — A  Journalistic  Repast. — Jamaica 
Rum. 

"I  am  sure  that  people  in  future  years  and  centuries  will  be  amazed 
by  accounts  of  our  present  modes  of  living.  We  journalists,"  said  the 
editor,  "have  been  reduced  to  the  utmost  straits.  I  printed  two 
issues  of  my  Register  on  pretty  wall-paper,  using  only  one  side  of  each 
sheet.  It  happened,  possibly,  because  the  Confederate  Government 
was  getting  out  a  new  issue  of  notes  and  bonds  and  monopolized  the 
service  of  the  paper-mills.  My  only  resource  was  wall-paper  owned 
by  a  cheerful  Hebrew,  and  the  reading  matter  of  the  striped  sheets 
was  confined  to  one  side  of  each.  It  was  a  queer  show  when  the  people, 
having  supplied  themselves  with  accounts  of  the  latest  battle,  sat  along 
the  curbstones  and  in  their  doorways  holding  up  the  ugly  striped,  red, 
white,  blue,  black,  and  figured  sheets  before  their  eager  faces.  I  was 
employed,  when  its  editor,  John  B.  Dumble,  an  Ohio  Democrat,  was 
sick,  to  conduct,  for  a  short  time,  a  daily  paper  in  Atlanta.  Sam  C. 
Reid  and  Dr.  I.  E.  Nagle,  two  army  correspondents  of  my  own 
newspaper,  were  in  Atlanta  at  the  time.  It  happened  that  a  blockade- 
runner  had  entered  Wilmington  and  supplied  us  abundantly  with 
Jamaica  rum.  I  paid  eighty  dollars  a  gallon  and  was  not  aware  of  the 
fact  that  each  newspaper  of  the  place,  and  there  were  four  dalies  then 
published  in  Atlanta,  was  in  like  manner  conciliated  by  the  generous 
importer.  There  was  a  famous  restaurateur  in  Atlanta.  He  drew  his 
supplies  of  early  vegetables  and  fruits  from  Florida  and  commonly 
spread,  though  he  paid  forty  cents  per  pound  for  salt,  a  very  attractive 
table.  He  had  no  wine,  and  only  the  white  country  whiskey  of  the 
period.  I  discovered  my  opportunity  in  the  possession  of  the  Jamaica 
rum,  and  therefore  ordered  dinner  for  eight  newspaper  men.     What 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  173 

was  my  astonisment  when  I  went  to  dinner,  that  I  encountered  no 
members  of  the  'press-gang'  except  Ried  and  Nagle.  The  absentees 
did  not  even  deign  to  send  apologies  for  the  non-acceptance  of  my 
invitation.  Nagle  and  Reid  had  each  seen,  during  the  morning, 
two  of  the  noble  profession,  and  we  inferred,  from  the  condition  of 
these  two,  that  all  the  rest,  as  fortunate  as  I  had  been,  had  received  a 
gallon,  or  even  more,  of  the  delicious  product  of  Jamaician  distilleries. 
We  three  sat  down  to  drink  the  rum  and  dispatch  the  viands  before 
us. 

"  It  was  finally  proposed  and  agreed  that  each  of  us,  and  each  absent 
journalist,  should  contribute  a  '  rousing  dinner-table  speech  to  the 
delights  of  the  rum  occasion.'  We  sat  to  work,  and  each  furnished, 
within  three  or  four  hours,  two  columns  of  matter  for  my  friend's  and 
my  own  newspaper.  We  wrote  and  published  our  own  and  supposed 
speeches,  as  genuine,  of  all  the  invited  editors.  We  made  the  ancient 
and  venerated  McClanahan  pronounce  a  heartfelt  eulogium  upon 
Andrew  Jackson  Democracy.  We  reproduced,  as  Watterson's  harangue, 
the  substance  of  his  unique  and  inimitable  delineation  of  Parson 
Brownlow's  character.  It  was  believed  that  the  parson  had  died  a 
few  days  before.  Dumble's  incisive  logic  characterized  his  dinner- 
table  talk.  Dill  was  made  to  utter  a  few  sentences  laudatory  of  the 
women  of  the  time,  and  the  whole  of  these  speeches  appeared  next 
morning.  Readers  of  the  Appeal  and  of  the  Register  supposed 
that  the  dinner  was  enjoyed  by  many  guests,  and  that  the  speeches 
were  welcomed  with  loud  applause.  This  was  natural  enough ;  but 
Nagle,  Reid,  and  I  were  especially  dumfounded  when  we  met,  three 
days  later,  to  find  that  each  editor,  but  one,  supposed  his  published 
speech  genuine ;  that  he  had  made  it  as  stated,  and  that  his  obliv- 
iousness of  the  incidents  of  the  occasion  was  wholly  due  to  the  over- 
powering influence  of  Jamaica  rum.  I  congratulated  McClanahan 
next  morning  after  the  supposed  festival,  on  his  eloquent  tribute  to 
the  rock-ribbed  secession  Democracy.  He  looked  at  me  doubtingly. 
I  said : 

"  'Mack,  you  were  a  little  intoxicated,  you  remember,  but  you  had 
your  wits  about  you,  and  your  talking  tackle  was  never  in  better 
condition.' 

"  I  produced  a  copy  of  McClanahan's  own  paper  and  pointed  out 
passages  in  his  speech  which  I  especially  approved. 

"Still  wearing  a  puzzled  look,  and  rubbing  his  eyes,  McClanahan 
at  last  concluded  that  he  had  been  unconsciously  '  the  orator  of  the 
occasion.'  When  soon  afterward  congratulated  by  Nagle,  Mack  never 
hesitated  a  moment,  but  replied  : 

"  '  Yes,  Doctor,  I  had  been  taking  a  little  rum,  but  made  a 

good  speech;  didn't  I?' 

"  Congressmen  print  speeches,  written  but  never  delivered,  and 
distribute  them  among  their  innocent  constituencies,  and  Congressmen 
have  speeches  written  for  them  that  are  delivered  as  their  own  ;  but 
here  we  see  that  editors  not  only  have  speeches  written,  but  delivered 


174  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

and  printed  as  their  own,  of  which  they  never  heard  or  dreamed. 
But  the  editors  deserved  the  more  praise  and  less  censure  in  this, 
that  each  honestly  supposed  he  made  the  speech  ascribed  to  him,  and 
each  earnestly  congratulated  the  other  because  of  his  triumph,  and 
the  innocent  people  were  not  sought  by  the  journalists  to  be  hum- 
bugged." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


Lieutenant  Hughes  Recites  his  Adventures  in  Southern  Missouri. — Wonders  of  the 
Lowlands. — Reckless  Freaks  of  Dame  Fortune. — A  Rebel  Negro  and  Narrow 
Escape — Two  Unnamed  Confederate  Heroes. 

Lieutenant  Hughes  was  not  loquacious.  His  position  as  host  and  as 
our  prisoner,  and,  possibly,  his  doubtful  acceptance  as  a  professed  suitor 
of  Bessie  Starnes,  silenced  him.  His  conduct  toward  her  while  she 
was  beneath  his  roof  was,  necessarily,  in  his  eyes,  most  guarded.  She 
was  his  sister's  friend,  and,  as  such,  his  guest.  He  was,  as  we  beheld 
his  action,  studiously  formal.  He  seemed  no  more  desirous  of 
amusing  and  entertaining  Bessie  than  others  of  his  guests.  He  said, 
with  abstracted  manner,  one  evening,  that  stories  we  had  been  telling 
recalled  an  incident  that  befell  him  when,  detailed  on  special  service, 
he  went  to  a  little  town,  New  Madrid,  in  Missouri. 

"With  one  hundred  men,  I  was  sent  eight  or  ten  miles  southwest  of 
the  place  to  capture  or  destroy  a  guerrilla  camp.  A  bright,  good- 
natured,  grinning  negro,  very  black,  came  to  our  headquarters  on  the 
low  plain,  in  the  rear  of  New  Madrid,  to  tell  me  that  one  Captain  H. 
E.  Clark,- a  rude,  energetic  rebel,  who  had  been  capturing  our  scouts 
and  cutting  off  foraging  parties,  might  be  easily  taken  prisoner  or 
destroyed.  The  negro  said  that  Clark  had  done  him  some  grievous 
wrong,  and  that  he  proposed  to  avenge  it.  I  applied  to  the  command- 
ing officer  of  the  post,  to  whom  this  '  contraband  '  recited  his  story 
as  he  had  to  me.  I  must  confess  that  now  and  then  I  had  doubts  of 
the  negro's  veracity,  and  vague  apprehensions  of  betrayal  were  sug- 
gested ;  but  negroes  had  been  found  faithful  always,  and  I  could  not 
well  see  how  one  would  have  the  courage  to  attempt  treason  to  truth, 
and  to  himself,  and  the  cause  of  his  own  freedom. 

"  In  any  event,  I  was  instructed  to  take  one  hundred  chosen  men 
and  capture  or  destroy  Clark  and  his  freebooters. 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  country  just  west  of  New  Madrid.     The  streams 


176  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

occupy  deep  channels,  or  crevices,  carved  out  by  the  earthquake  of 
1811-12.  The  water  flows  through  densest  weeds  and  cresses. 
Brightest  flowers  bloom  and  blossom  above  the  surface,  and  these 
strange,  deep  creeks,  emptying  into  the  murky  Mississippi,  are  of 
pellucid  clearness.  Whan  crossing  these  streams,  we  could  see  fish 
disporting  themselves  ten  feet  below  the  surface.  The  country  had 
been  lifted  up  by  the  eathquake  shocks  of  1811-12  so  that  artificial 
drains,  said  to  have  connected  the  Mississippi  with  the  St.  Francis  and 
White,  lateral  and  tributary  streams,  were  broken  by  this  upheaval  of 
the  land,  and  the  superabundant  water  of  the  great  river  was  left  to 
follow  the  river's  main  channel,  and  submerge  farms  and  houses  along 
its  resistless  course.  States  have  constructed  mighty  earthen  walls  to 
confine  it  to  its  deep  and  tortuous  course ;  but  it  defies  every  obstruc- 
tion, and  carves  out  its  path  along  the  highest  ridge  between  the  par- 
allel highlands,  fifty  miles  apart,  extending  from  Cairo  almost  to  the 
sea.  When  the  water  first  leaves  the  overcharged  main  channel,  it 
holds  most  mud  in  suspension,  and  then,  too,  this  water  moves  most 
slothfully,  and,  of  course,  at  that  moment  it  deposits  most  mud  and 
most  rapidly.  Therefore,  the  banks  are  highest  at  the  river's  edge, 
and  therefore  you  hear  people  say  they  descend  the  Mississippi  in 
steamers  and  look  down  upon  the  tops  of  planters'  residences  and  mills 
hard  by  the  uplifted  '  inland  sea.'  Therefore,  the  terrors  of  a  crevasse 
and  frightful  force  of  the  pent-up  flood-tide  when  a  crayfish,  or  malicious 
person,  or  the  slow  abrasion  of  the  soil  has  given  vent  to  the  accumu- 
lated waters.  I  saw  the  levee  break  one  morning  late  in  May,  a  year 
ago.  Houses  and  fences  disappeared  as  if  swallowed  by  a  maelstrom. 
The  people  fled  as  from  '  the  wrath  to  come  ; '  and  when  the  resistless 
torrent  reached  the  forest,  one  hundred  yards  distant,  mightiest  trees, 
the  growth  of  centuries,  went  down  as  did  the  reeds  of  the  canebrake. 
The  roaring  of  the  rushing  flood,  and  crashing  and  breaking  of  falling 
cypresses,  two  and  three  hundred  feet  high,  shook  the  earth,  and  no 
tempest's  roar  was  ever  comparable  with  this  echoing  thunder  of  the 
drunken  mighty  '  father  of  floods.'  Here  it  carves  out  for  itself  a  new 
channel  and  slowly  renews  the  process  of  upbuilding  its  own  banks. 
In  this  it  is  only  aided  by  the  construction  of  levees,  those  frail  earthen 
walls  designed  to  hedge  it  in.  It  rises  with  successive  floods,  higher 
and  higher  above  the  marshland  plain,  until  accident  or  resistless  in- 
ertia of  heaped  up  floods  breaks  down  all  barriers,  and  pretty  homes 
and  redundant  crops  are  again  overwhelmed.  But  standing  at  any 
time  or  place  on  the  shore  of  the  Mississippi,  and  listening  to  the 
sullen  roar  of  its  tawny  waters,  one  always  confesses  the  sublime 
majesty  of  the  mighty  river.  There  is  no  such  impressive  embodi- 
ment of  the  ideal  of  the  River  of  Death,  forever  sweeping  countless 
myriads  into  the  ocean  of  eternal  rest,  as  this,  which  chants  forever  a 
sonorous  melancholy  requiem  over  graves  of  nations  and  cities,  and 
of  unknown,  forgotten  races,  that  once  dwelt  along  its  shores.  There 
is  infinite  sadness  in  sombre  forests  of  impenetrable  gloom  and  density 
lining  the  low,  flat  shores,  and  shutting  out  the  sun's  rays.     It  trends 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  177 

away  to  one  or  the  other  side  of  its  earthen  prison  walls,  and,  leaning 
lazily  against  it,  groans  and  roars  as  if  its  sluggish  movements  of 
measureless  force  were  painful  to  the  monstrous  river.  When  weary 
of  resting  against  the  eastern,  it  slowly  moves  to  the  western  side  of 
its  ever-changeful  channel.  Its  wayward  lawlessness  is  as  marvelous 
as  memories  of  pilots  who  watch,  beneath  moon  and  stars  and  mocking 
dancing  shadows  of  the  night,  its  ever-varying  courses  and  measure  by 
miniature  whirlpools  on  its  surface,  the  depth  of  boiling  billows. 

"  But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  of  a  negro's  treason  to  the  Union. 
It  is  a  single  confessed  instance,  and  I  was  its  victim.  Of  course  the 
black  rascal  was  my  guide  to  the  guerrilla  Clark's  hiding  place.  My 
force  was  compelled  to  follow  a  narrow  path  across  the  swamp.  Any 
deviation  from  the  track,  only  wide  enough  for  one  horseman,  was 
almost  certain  death.  Quagmires  were  bottomless.  I  became  inter- 
ested, as  we  were  going  out  of  New  Madrid,  in  a  description  a  raw 
recruit  from  Tennessee,  named  Tillman,  was  giving  me  of  Reelfoot 
Lake,  and  of  its  strange  origin  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  river,  and 
made  the  intelligent  youth  promise  to  recite  the  whole  story  as  soon 
as  we  had  leisure,  by  the  camp  fire. 

"  Meanwhile,  it  occurred  to  me  that  we  had  traveled  ten  or  fifteen, 
when  the  negro  had  said  we  need  only  go  eight  miles.  I  caused  the 
command  to  halt.  The  negro  was  brought  into  my  presence.  I  stated 
to  him  that  his  integrity  was  questioned,  and  that  if  he  did  not  lead 
us  at  once  to  Clark's  den  I  would  have  him  shot.  I  ordered  a  trust- 
worthy sergeant  to  ride  beside  or  near  the  negro,  and  shoot  him  if, 
within  the  next  half  hour,  we  were  not  at  Clark's  hiding  place. 
Within  twenty  minutes  I  heard  the  report  of  a  pistol,  and  riding  rapidly 
forward  I  encountered  a  corporal,  who  said  that  the  negro  had  taken 
advantage  of  his  perfect  knowledge  of  the  paths  through  the  swamp, 
and  of  the  different  appearances  of  the  miry  and  of  hard  ground,  and 
had  separated  himself  and  the  sergeant  from  the  main  body  of  my 
command,  and  that  the  '  black  rascal  had  shot  the  sergeant  dead  and 
disappeared.' 

"Fortunately,  it  seemed,  we  could  see  an  'opening,'  as  woodsmen 
term  a  'clearing,'  half  a  mile  ahead,  and  moved  rapidly  toward  it. 
Instead  of  a  barn,  we  found  a  'gin-house.'  Its  body  rested  on  pil- 
lars— great  trees  hewn  square — -twelve  feet  high.  Within  the  building, 
above  these  pillars,  was  the  gin  that  separates  the  seed  from  the  cotton, 
and  below,  on  the  ground  and  inside  the  pillars,  was  the  great  cogged 
wheel  and  its  lever,  to  which  mules  are  attached,  that  the  gin  may 
be  driven  to  do  its  office.      Here  we  camped  for  the  night. 

"Knowing  Clark's  strength,  I  was  not  apprehensive  of  an  assault ; 
but  I  posted  a  strong  picket  force,  and  taking  with  me  the  youthful 
Tennesseean  recruit  who  had  interested  me  during  the  day,  I  ordered 
my  men  to  destroy  no  property,  but  make  themselves  comfortable 
under  and  about  the  gin-house.  In  compliance  with  an  invitation 
from  the  widowed  owner  of  the  estate,  I  went  to  the  'big  house,'  as 
designated  by  the  negro  who  had  brought  the  note  of  invitation.     The 

12 


178  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

widow  first  appeared.  After  tendering  me  the  hospitalities  of  her 
delightful  home,  she  introduced  her  daughter,  a  pretty  maiden,  blush- 
ing into  perfect  womanhood.  I  was  charmed  by  the  confiding 
kindliness  of  the  widow,  and  fascinated  by  the  bright  eyes  and  dewy 
lips  and  winsome  smiles  of  the  pretty  daughter.  The  widow  devoted 
herself  to  the  youthful  Tennesseean,  while  the  daughter  was  evidently 
most  willing  that  I  should  be  well  pleased." 

It  may  be  proper  to  add,  parenthetically,  that  Bessie  Starnes  was 
silently  listening  to  this  recital  as  made  by  Lieutenant  Hughes,  and  I 
could  not  help  watching  the  color  come  and  go  in  her  changeful,  tell- 
tale face.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  blazing  logs  in  the  broad, 
deep  fire-place,  while  she  listened  intently  to  the  story,  and  whether 
the  more  because  of  dangers  that  threatened  the  lieutenant  at  the 
hands  of  armed  men,  or  of  a  woman,  bending  every  energy  to  achieve 
a  perfect  conquest,  I  could  not  divine. 

The  lieutenant  said  that  he  was  hungry,  and  that  it  occurred  to  him 
that  the  meal  which  he  had  been  invited  to  share  was  unaccountably 
delayed. 

"I  looked  at  my  watch,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "and  found  it  was 
nine  o'clock.  I  did  not  see  the  reason  for  this  tardiness,  and  became 
a  little  restive.  My  camp  was  half  a  mile  away,  and  I  said  to  the 
mistress  of  the  house  that  I  would  walk  down  the  road  a  short  distance 
and  learn  that  everything  was  quiet  at  the  gin-house.  The  Tennesseean 
accompanied  me.  Going  out,  I  observed  a  spur,  freshly  worn,  lying 
on  the  ground.     I  said  to  the  Tennesseean  : 

"  'Some  one  left  hurriedly  when  we  came,  losing  this  spur.  Per- 
haps he  was  a  courier  sent  to  Clark's  hiding  place  to  advise  him  of 
our  presence  here.  Perhaps  supper  is  delayed  that  we  may  be 
detained  till  Clark  may  come  and  capture  us.  He  spares  no  prisoners, 
I  am  told.  He  is  a  lawless  fellow,  and  his  followers  are  yellow-faced 
dwellers  in  these  malarial  swamps.  Ignorant  and  murderous  as  they 
are,  I  am  not  willing  to  fall  into  their  hands.  Do  you  ride  back  to 
our  camp,  taking  my  horse  with  you,  and  return  instantly  with  thirty 
men,  stationing  them  in  the  verge  of  this  grove,  within  fifty  yards  of 
the  house.  Send  no  pickets  to  the  edge  of  the  swamp.  Let  Clark 
come.  Tell  Lieutenant  Bradly,  my  second  in 'command,  to  be  watch- 
ful, and  do  you  let  none  of  Clark's  gang  escape.  I  will  come  to  the 
door  occasionally,  only  to  listen,  of  course,  and  thus  know  that  every- 
thing is  quiet  at  the  gin-house.  When  I  am  sure  danger  is  imminent, 
a  white  handkerchief  will  be  shown  by  me,  and  you  must  advance.' 

' '  I  was  quite  sure  that  the  widow  had  instituted  signals  by  which  she 
advised  Clark's  men  when  to  approach  the  house,  and  I  instructed  the 
Tennesseean  to  ascertain  whether  the  widow  placed  a  light  in  any 
window  that  could  be  seen  from  the  swamp. 

"I  re-entered  the  house,  and  telling  mother  and  daughter  that 
everything  was  quiet  at  my  encampment,  I  stated,  carelessly,  that  the 
night  was  beautiful,  and  moon  and  stars  shone  brilliantly.  I  then 
added  that  since  everything  betokened  a  night  of  perfect  repose,  I 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  1 79 

had  discharged  my  orderly  and  sent  my  horse  to  the  gin-house.  The 
ladies  smiled  approvingly,  while  I  was  only  fearful  that  Clark's  gang 
might  make  a  descent  upon  the  house  before  my  orders  could  be 
executed.  In  fact  I  began  to  suspect  that  the  house  would  be  sur- 
rounded by  my  enemies  while  I  was  at  supper,  and  therefore  the 
delay  in  inviting  me  to  the  table.  I  was  certainly  very  hungry,  but 
was  never  less  anxious  to  appease  hunger.  I  supposed  that  half  an 
hour  would  elapse  before  my  men  would  occupy  the  grove  in  front 
and  west  of  the  residence,  while  I  believed  that  Clark  would  approach 
stealthily  from  the  swamp,  east  of  the  farm  and  half  a  mile  distant. 
My  anxiety  was  two-fold.  I  feared .  I  might  be  captured,  and  then 
that  I  would  fail  to  capture  Clark,  whose  force  I  was  ordered  to  'cap- 
ture or  destroy.'  But  the  widow  and  daughter  still  exerted  themselves, 
nervously,  as  I  imagined,  to  entertain  me,  and  still  no  allusion  was 
made  to  the  meal  I  had  been  invited  to  share.  I  was  morally  certain, 
as  the  spur  at  the  doorway  indicated,  that  when  I  was  invited  to 
occupy  an  apartment  in  the  house,  a  mounted  messenger  had  been 
dispatched  to  Clark. 

"Anxious  and  watchful  as  I  was,  I  became  profoundly  interested  in 
the  good  dame's  intelligent  account  of  her  sojourn  in  New  Madrid. 
She  said : 

"  'This  is  a  wonderful  country,  with  a  wonderful  history.  These 
deep  streams,  enclosed  within  precipitous  banks,  all  appeared  in  one 
night.  My  father  told  me  that  when  he  went  to  bed  one  night  in  his 
cabin,  that  stood  fifty  yards  from  this  spot,  in  the  winter  of  181 2-13, 
there  was  no  running  stream  between  this  farm  and  the  prosperous 
trading  village  of  New  Madrid.  The  whole  country,  of  an  area  fifty 
miles  square,  had  been  conveyed  by  the  United  States  Government 
to  General  Morgan  for  his  services  in  the  old  revolutionary  war.  He 
never  parted  with  the  title,  except  that  Jie  gave  many  farms  and  town 
lots  to  his  friends.  The  rest  is  simply  held  by  that  right,  as  I  am  told, 
which  possession  gives.  But  the  town  prospered  till  the  country,  as 
my  neighbors  say,  "tuk  the  ager,"  and  sulphurous  flames  issued 
from  the  earth,  and  heaps  of  stone,  coal,  and  sand  were  forced  to  the 
surface,  and  the  whole  country  west  of  us  for  one  hundred  miles  was 
lifted  up  eight  or  ten,  and  in  some  places,  twenty  feet.  Transverse 
streams,  said  to  have  been  artificial,  that  used  to  connect  the  Mis- 
sissippi with  the  head  waters  of  the  White  and  St.  Francis  Rivers, 
preventing  the  submergence  of  the  intervening  land  by  the  Mississippi's 
greatest  floods,  were  upheaved  and  broken.  Great  lakes,  said  to  be 
fathomless,  were  formed.  One  I  have  visited  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  is  ten  or  fifteen  miles  long ;  and,  looking  down  into  its  transpa- 
rent depths,  I  could  see  the  tops  of  trees  standing  erect  far  below  the 
surface,  that  had  once  towered  two  and  even  three  hundred  feet  above 
the  lowlands.  The  country  went  down  and  pellucid  water  came  up. 
It  is  only  the  visible  portion  of  a  great  underground  sea  into  which 
the  underground  rivers  of  Mammoth  and  other  Kentucky  and  Tennes- 
see caverns  discharge  themselves.     I  have  slept  in  Union  City,  not 


i So  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

far  east  from  the  Mississippi  and  near  this  Reelfoot  Lake.  When 
railway  trains  come  by  at  night,  I  have  fancied,  when  the  earth  was 
shaken  until  the  candle  fell  from  the  mantel,  and  when  I  could  hear  the 
hollow,  cavernous  roar  seemingly  far  beneath  my  feet — I  have  fancied 
that  Union  City  rested  above  a  mightier  than  Reelfoot  Lake  and 
deeper  than  Mammoth  Cave,  and  that  I  might  awake  some  bright 
morning  afloat  in  a  newly  discovered  Mediterranean  as  fathomless  as 
Reelfoot  Lake.  On  the  fatal  night  of  which  I  was  telling,  when  New 
Madrid  Avas  destroyed,  the  Mississippi  lost  its  reckoning.  The  current 
of  the  river  was  turned  backward,  and  Neil  B.  Flolt,  who  now  lives  in 
Memphis,  then  descending  the  river  in  a  flat-boat,  was  brought  backward 
towards  Cairo,  forty  miles.  The  mighty  drain  of  the  continent  abso- 
lutely changed  its  course.  It  must  have  discharged  itself,  when  this 
whole  region  was  upheaved  during  that  convulsive  night,  into  these 
underground  seas  and  lakes,  and  thus  the  covering  of  Reelfoot  Lake 
was  lifted  up  by  superabundant  water ;  and  when  the  river  resumed  its 
course  towards  the  gulf  and  the  surcharged  lake  was  relieved,  the  lid 
fell  in,  and  this  famed  resort  of  fishermen,  with  its  pellucid  water, 
wholly  unlike  that  of  the  Mississippi,  for  the  first  time  mirrored  dense 
forests  and  sun,  moon,  and  stars  in  its  transparent  bosom.  But  the 
Mississippi  is  always  going  east,  while  the  great  rivers  of  Europe,  that 
run  north  and  south,  move  their  channels  toward  the  west.  Why  this 
difference,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  the  Mississippi  may  yet  enter  and  dis- 
charge itself  into  these  seas  underlying  portions  of  Tennessee  and 
Kentucky,  and  I  hope  to  live  long  enough  to  see  the  result.  I  am  sure 
they  have  to-day  no  connection  with  the  majestic,  visible  drain  of  the 
continent.  Suppose  the  Mississippi  find  its  way  into  Reelfoot  Lake, 
and  disappear  forever? 

"  '  But  I  was  going  to  tell  of  ludicrous  and  terrible  incidents  I 
witnessed  when  Bishop  General  Polk  landed  here,  late  in  the  summer 
of  1S61,  with  five  or  six  thousand  men.  He  came  on  all  sorts  of 
steamboats  and  on  flats  towed  by  steamers.  I  went  to  the  river  bank 
to  witness  the  landing  of  this  mighty  army.  Living  always  in  these 
solitudes,  I  had  never  dreamed  that  there  were  as  many  men  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  as  came  from  these  living,  floating  hives.  There  was 
moored  in  the  midst  of  the  fleet,  and  just  at  my  feet,  a  little  steamer, 
which  I  was  told  contained  all  the  gunpowder  and  ordnance-stores  for 
this  mighty  army. 

"'The  army  had  disembarked  and  lined  the  shore.  There  were 
not  more  than  twenty  or  thirty  persons  on  each  of  twenty  or  more 
steamers  moored  side  by  side.  This  vessel,  which  was  freighted  with 
gunpowder  and  fixed  ammunition,  was  discovered  to  be  on  fire  in  the 
rear  of  its  wheelhouse.  I  never  witnessed  such  an  exhibition  of  terror. 
The  army  recognized,  as  I  did  not,  the  hazards  of  the  moment.  I  saw 
everybody  running.  Boats  half  secured  at  the  shore  were  left  to  drift 
down  the  current.  They  began  to  collide  with  one  another.  I  saw 
Dr.  McDowell,  a  very  tall,  slender,  white-haired  man,  flying  for  life 
down  the  main  street  of  the  town.     When  I  asked,  "  For  God's  sake,. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  181 

Doctor,  what's  the  matter?  "  he  exclaimed,  "New  Madrid  will  be  in 
hell,  in  less  than  a  minute  !  "  and  he  fled  far  beyond  the  confines  of 
the  devoted  town  to  the  encampment  of  Bankhead's  battery.  Every- 
body followed  in  the  wake  of  the  elongated,  flying  doctor,  and  the 
devoted  place  was  wholly  evacuated.  Meanwhile  two  of  the  bravest 
men  on  God's  footstool — the  one,  Frank  Cheatham;  the  other,  Oliver 
Greenlaw — while  I  was  looking  at  them,  went  on  board  that  burning 
steamer,  and  with  buckets,  and  before  my  eyes,  drawing  up  water  from 
the  river,  extinguished  the  flames.  The  planks  on  the  rear  of  the 
wheelhouse  were  torn  off  by  Greenlaw  and  he  and  Cheatham  tri- 
umphed. I  had  learned,  when  they  ran  on  board  the  little  steamer, 
what  frightened  the  multitude,  but  was  so  fascinated  by  the  conduct 
of  these  daring  men — one,  Greenlaw,  a  private  citizen  ;  and  the  other, 
then  a  Brigadier-General — that  I  was  wholly  unconscious  of  my  own, 
while  contemplating  frightful  dangers  they  despised. 

"  '  I  was  standing  at  the  bow  of  the  boat  when  the  two  men  came 
ashore.  I  knew  them  both  well.  Both  were  pale  and  thoroughly 
exhausted  as  if  they  had  discharged  Herculean  tasks.  But  it  was  only 
the  superhuman  effort  of  will  that  broke  them  down.  I  ran  to  a 
house  hard-by  and  returning,  gave  them  an  invigorating  draught,  and 
they  rested  pale  and  weak  upon  the  bank  in  perfect  solitude,  till  fugi- 
tives began  slowly,  one  by  one  to  return,  each  giving  some  ludicrous 
account  of  manifestations  of  terror  by  some  friend  or  acquaintance. 
Dr.  McDowell's  fright  and  flight  became  historical  because  he  was  a 
famed  lecturer,  inculcating  theories,  and  in  this  instance,  the  practice, 
of  immediate,  violent  "secession."  ' 

"I  don't  know,"  continued  the  lieutenant,  "when  the  good  dame 
would  have  been  silenced,  but  the  daughter,  who  had  gone  into  the 
dining  room,  returned,  and  with  a  significant  glance  at  her  mother, 
announced  that  supper  was  ready.  The  hostess  asked  me  to  accom- 
pany her,  I  said,  'In  a  moment,  madam.'  She  watched  me  ner- 
vously when  I  went  out.  In  the  hall  I  replaced  my  pistols  in  my  belt, 
and  standing  in  the  doorway,  raised  my  handkerchief  above  my  head. 
I  was  morally  certain  that  Clark's  guerrillas  were  at  hand  and  that  my 
loquacious  hostess  knew  it. 

"We  sat  at  table  and  I  was  in  the  act  of  sipping  coffee,  when, 
glancing  at  the  window,  I  beheld,  distinctly  outlined  and  pressed 
against  a  pane  of  glass,  the  black  face  of  the  traitorous  negro  guide  who 
had  proposed  to  deliver  Clark's  marauding  guerrillas  into  our  hands. 
He  was  surveying  the  interior  of  the  dining  hall,  and  withdrawing 
instantly,  I  suppose  was  satisfied  that  he  had  'bagged  his  game.'  Of 
course  I  made  no  sign  ;  but,  saying  to  mine  hostess  that  I  heard  the 
clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  and  feared  that  some  mishap  had  befallen  my 
command,  and  that  I  would  stand  in  the  doorway  and  listen,  I  went 
out. 

"It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  walked  rapidly.  I  actually  leaped  from 
the  front  door,  and  drawing  and  cocking  an  army  repeater  with  my 
right  hand,  threw  up  the  white  handkerchief  with  my  left.     I  reached 


182  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

the  yard  gate,  twenty  steps  from  the  house,  and  was  flying  for  life, 
when  a  bullet  from  that  rascally  negro's  pistol  whistled  by  my  head. 
He  was  in  advance  of  the  squad  sent  by  Clark,  and  guided  by  the 
good  widow's  son,  to  kill  or  make  me  a  prisoner.  The  widow  and 
daughter  were  to  fascinate  and  detain  and  the  daring,  devilish  black- 
amoor to  assasinate  or  capture  me. 

"But  the  youthful  Tennesseean,  Tillman,  had  failed  in  nothing.  I 
heard  him,  at  the  very  instant  the  pistol  was  fired,  exclaim,  'Charge 
them,  boys ! ' 

"To  escape  shots  coming  from  both  directions,  I  fell  upon  my  face. 
When  Tillman  was  dashing  by,  I  rose  up  and  said,  '  Kill  or  catch  the 
black  traitor  and  spy  who  escaped  from  us  to-day.' 

"  My  assailants  had  left  their  horses  a  hundred  yards  away.  Before 
they  could  recover  them  and  get  into  their  saddles,  we  had  killed  or 
wounded  four,  and  captured  the  rest,  of  the  guerrillas,  except  the 
twelfth  man,  the  daring  negro,  who  ran  as  fleetly  as  a  grayhound. 
Tillman  was  riding  my  horse  and  resolved  to  execute  my  orders.  Two 
men  followed  him  closely.  The  negro  made  no  effort  to  secure  his 
own  steed,  but  fled  towards  the  nearest  woods.  Twice  he  turned  and 
fired  at  Tillman,  who  was  lying  flat  on  his  face,  while  my  spirited 
animal  rushed  forward  as  if  he  comprehended  his  rider's  purposes  and 
shared  his  fearlessness.  Luckily  for  Tillman,  when  he  came  up  with 
the  negro,  his  comrades  were  close  at  hand.  Both  fired  at  the  fugitive 
and  his  right  arm  was  broken.  He  came  sullenly  into  my  presence, 
and  when  I  said  that  he  deserved  death  and  would  be  hanged  as  a  spy, 
he  looked  vengefully  in  my  face,  and  grinding  his  teeth  together,  said, 
'And  I'll  die  weeping  because  I  didn't  shoot  you  at  the  supper-table  ; 
but  I  was  chicken-hearted,  and  didn't  want  to  scare  two  women.' 

"I  never  saw  such  a  negro  as  this  reckless  dare-devil.  His  name 
was  Charley  Dicks.  He  had  been  liberated  many  years  because  of  his 
fidelity  to  his  master  ;  and  though  the  code  of  Tennessee  prohibited 
the  immigration  of  free  negroes,  the  law  was  never  enforced,  and 
Charley  was  not  only  a  citizen  of  Tennessee,  but  a  slaveholder.  He 
loved  money,  and  therefore  hated  the  Abolitionists.  His  slaves  were 
his  wealth.  Thus  he  became  a  fierce  secessionist.  Prior  to  this,  he 
had  been  employed  by  Bishop  General  Polk  as  a  spy  in  Cairo.  There 
he  shaved  General  Grant  in  a  Cairo  barber-shop,  and  that  night, 
crossing  the  Mississippi  in  a  dug-out,  he  sent  to  the  Bishop  General,  a 
full  report  of  his  interview  with  the  kindly  brigadier  of  that  early 
period  in  the  progress  of  inter-state  hostilities.* 

"  But  it  is  growing  late,  and  my  story,  perhaps,  tedious.  I'll  tell  at 
another  time  how  Charley  escaped  from  us,  and  how  we  punished  the 
bad  faith  of  the  bright,  buxom  widow  and  of  her  pretty  daughter. " 

Then  we  bade  one  another  good  night. 

^Charley  still  lives  and  still  wields  the  razor  in  a  prosperous  southern  city. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


General  Grant  Talks    Somewhat. — Sam    McCown. — The  Frightful    Demon    of  the 
"Inland  Sea." — Bickerstaff's  Memorable  Ride. — Patlanders  of  Pinch. 

The  latest  hours  of  the  evening  were  made  delightful  by  stories  re- 
cited by  Lieutenant  Hughes,  who  said  he  reproduced  them  as  origi- 
nally given  by  Tennesseeans  captured  near  Fort  Pillow,  above  Memphis 
on  the  Mississippi,  and  brought  to  New  Madrid  while  he  was  stationed 
there.  These  prisoners  insisted  that  the  Mississippi  itself  was  waging 
war  against  the  Confederacy.  "It  seems  to  concur  in  purpose  with 
General  Grant,  who  said,  just  after  the  battle  of  Belmont,  in  Novem- 
ber, 1861,  when  exchanging  wounded  prisoners  with  the  Confederate 
General  McCown,  on  the  old  steamer  Ingomar,  that  he  had  origi- 
nally started  out  simply  to  open  the  Mississippi  from  Cairo  to  the  sea. 
I  heard  him  say  this  while  he  and  McCown,  at  a  table  decorated  with 
sundry  glasses,  revived  memories  of  by-gone  days,  when  they  served 
under  the  same  flag  in  the  old  army  on  western  plains.  They  had  been 
classmates  at  West  Point,  and  were  devoted  personal  friends.  Grant 
insisted  that  the  river  was  an  indivisible  unit,  and  that  McCown,  as 
a  representative  of  the  Confederacy,  had  no  right  to  dam  it  up  at  Co- 
lumbus or  Cairo.  'It  belongs,'  said  Grant,  'to  the  Northwest  as 
wholly  and  thoroughly  as  to  the  Gulf  States.  You  have  been  firing 
into  our  steamers  at  Vicksburg,  and  General'  Pillow,  I  am  told,  has 
absolutely  stretched  a  great  iron  cable  across  the  river  at  Memphis 
that  free  navigation  of  this  stream,  which  your  prophet,  Calhoun, 
pronounced  an  inland  sea,  may  be  divided  between  the  North  and 
South.  It  is  simply  absurd,'  continued  Brigadier-General  Grant, 
"  and  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  New  Orleans,  and  I  will  never  stop  till 
I  get  there.  I  used  to  be  a  Democrat,  Mack,  as  you  know.  I  didn't 
care  or  think  much  about  parties  or  politics,  but  I  was  a  Democrat. 
Let  me  tell  you  that  I  have  changed  my  mind  about  it.  I  can't  go 
with  a  party  whose  leading  thinkers  and  theorists  have  undertaken  to 


i84  .      FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

destroy  the  Union  and  dam  up  the  Mississippi.  That  absurd  Kansas 
squatter-sovereignty  abstraction  does  not  concern  me.  Party  leaders 
used  it  down  South  to  delude  innocent  country  bumpkins  and  divide 
and  destroy  Democracy  in  the  South  that  Lincoln  might  be  elected 
and  secession  accomplished.  It  signifies  nothing  now  that  war  is  in- 
augurated, and  I  think  you  are  wholly  wrong.  I  am  en  route  to  New 
Orleans." 

"McCown  was  no  talker,  but  devoted  to  Grant  personally.  I  heard 
him  say  afterward  that  Grant's  hard  horse-sense  was  always  unanswer- 
able and  always  victorious. 

"  But  I  was  telling  you,"  continued  the  lieutenant,  "that  the  Mis- 
sissippi made  war  on  the  Confederacy.  Every  fortification  on  its  banks 
erected  by  the  rebels  was  speedily  swept  away.  The  navy-yard  at 
Memphis,  the  heights  at  Randolph,  at  Fort  Pillow,  and  at  Columbus, 
and  works  at  Island  Ten  have  been  removed  by  the  resistless  forces  of 
the  mighty  drain  of  the  continent.  Within  a  very  brief  period  there 
will  be  no  vestige  of  an  earthwork  reared  along  the  river  to  shut  out 
northern  commerce  from  the  South.  The  Mississippi  itself  will  not 
tolerate  them.  Like  the  Rio  Grande,  this  great  arm  of  the  sea,  is  con- 
stantly moving  bodily  toward  the  Atlantic.  It  carves  away  the  hills 
forever  along  its  eastern  shore.  When  De  Soto  died,  three  hundred 
and  twenty-two  years  ago,  as  the  newspaper  man  was  telling  us,  the 
river  ran  along  the  base  of  lofty  bluffs,  just  below  Helena,  in  Arkansas.. 
To-day  the  river  touches  no  highlands  on  its  western  side  from  Cairo  to 
the  Gulf.  Neither  the  unity  of  the  river  nor  its  ownership  was  de- 
signed by  Nature  to  be  disrupted.  Pillow's  mighty  chain  was  broken 
again  and  again  by  the  forces  of  the  resistless  current,  and  the  Missis- 
sippi can  no  more  be  fettered  by  manacles  or  confined  within  prison- 
walls  by  levees  than  free  people  and  states  along  its  shores.  When 
Xerxes  attempted  to  close  the  Hellespont  with  cables  of  iron,  these, 
his  bridges,  and  ships  were  destroyed  by  the  rebellious  waters.  The 
freedom  of  rivers  and  seas  should  never  be  violated.  Yazoo  Pass, 
making  Vicksburg  accessible  from  the  east,  was  closed  by  a  mighty 
earthen  wall.  Grant  cut  it  and  the  Mississippi  thrust  out  a  great  arm,, 
bearing  Grant  and  his  gunboats  and  army  even  to  the  rear  of  Vicks- 
burg. 

"The  Confederates  devised  a  costly  vessel,  so  ingeniously  and  strongly 
built  that  it  was  indestructible  by  shot  and  shell.  It  swept  every  Fed- 
eral gunboat  from  the  river,  and  was  going  confidently  and  victori- 
ously to  New  Orleans  to  destroy  the  northern  navy  that  had  entered 
the  Mississippi.  There  was  never  a  more  terrible  engine  of  war  than 
this  ram,  the  Arkansas.  At  its  sharp  bow  or  prora  there  was  a  rostrum 
or  beak  of  iron,  like  those  of  Roman  and  Carthaginian  war-vessels, 
weighing  forty  thousand  pounds.  Its  strength  was  such  that  the  tough- 
est, strongest  ships  were  crushed  by  its  blows.  A  long  steel  rod  was 
projected  over  and  beyond  this.  To  its  end  was  attached  a  shell  to  be 
fired  by  an  electrical  battery  from  within  when  in  contact  with  an 
enemy's  boat.     The  Arkansas  was  roofed  with  railroad   iron.     Over 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.      .  185 

this  was  a  layer  of  solidly-compressed  cotton-bales,  and  over  these 
another  of  heavy  railroad  iron,  which  could  only  be  stricken  by  a  ball 
impinging  against  it  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees.  The  Arkansas 
was  simply  the  masterpiece  of  gunboat  builders.  Commanded  by  the 
most  skillful  of  seamen  and  bravest  of  officers,  it  reached  Baton  Rouge, 
after  many  frightful  and  destructive  conflicts  with  ships  and  gunboats, 
unharmed.  Victorious  again  and  again,  its  officers  confident  of  the 
extirpation  of  the  fleet  at  New  Orleans,  it  became  the7  prey  of  the 
mighty  river.  Mud  was  injected,  with  the  water  on  which  it  floated, 
into  the  machinery  of  its  life.  It  became  unmanageable  and  helpless,  and 
was  at  last  blown  up  by  orders  of  its  own  commander,  and  when  Vicks- 
burg  fell,  Grant's  way  to  the  sea  was  unobstructed.  But  the  strongest 
and  stanchest  vessel  that  ever  floated  on  the  Mississippi,  or  elsewhere 
in  the  world,  my  rebel  friends  insisted,"  continued  the  lieutenant,  "  was 
this  dreadful  ram,  the  Arkansas,  built  by  John  T.  Shirley,  at  Mem- 
phis. 

"  I  was  told  of  a  most  ludicrous  mishap  which  befell  a  learned  and 
able  lawyer  of  Memphis.  This  distinguished  jurist  bore  the  honored 
name,  Bickerstaff.  He  was  wonderfully  tall  and  slender,  and  must 
have  encountered  Washington  Irving  at  some  period  in  his  earlier  years, 
or  the  matchless  story-teller  never  could  have  drawn  -  with  such  pre- 
cision and  clearness,  outlines  of  that  ever-memorable  picture  of  Ichabod 
Crane,  which,  never  painted  save  in  words,  stands  out  before  our  eyes 
as  sharply  and  distinctly  defined  as  the  strong,  solemn  face  of  Washing- 
ton, or  honest,  earnest,  ubiquitous  physiognomy  of  U.  S.  Grant. 

Bickerstaff,  a  most  logical  reasoner  and  perfect  master  of  his  profes- 
sion, was  singularly  careful  in  his  dress,  as  in  the  preparation  of  his 
speeches.  He  was  an  Indianian  by  birth,  and  by  early  training  as  sl 
pedagogue.  Of  course  he  was  an  inflexible,  but  silent,  Unionist.  He- 
was  conscious  of  his  physical  peculiarities,  and,  though  an  attorney, 
and  rich  withal,  was  never  known  to  speak  to  a  woman.  Still,  he 
dressed  himself  with  painstaking  care,  always  obeying  the  injunction, 
'Let  thy  dress  be  costly  as  thy  purse  can  buy.'  His  nose  was  of 
extraordinary  height  and  length  and  thinness,  and  like  a  dromedary  of 
two  humps.  His  face  was  thin,  sallow,  and  long;  his  eyes  bright, 
keen,  and  penetrating.  His  neck  was  of  extraordinary  longitude,  and 
therefore  he  always  wore  a  standing  shirt-collar.  Bickerstaff,  six  feet 
three  and  a  half  inches  high,  rarely  rode  on  horseback.  His  long,, 
slender  legs  did  not  present  a  seemly  aspect,  while  his  big  feet  dangled 
out  into  the  stirrups  from  loose,  baggy  breeches  legs.  Therefore  he 
went  from  Memphis,  nine  miles,  to  Raleigh,  to  attend  county  court  in 
a  vehicle  drawn  by  a  beautiful  and  valuable  horse.  Returning  about 
noon,  on  the  coldest  day,  perhaps,  ever  known  this  century  in  this 
latitude,  the  first  of  January  last,  he  encountered  a  dozen  rebel  guer- 
rillas. He  was  recognized,  of  course.  No  citizen  of  the  country  was 
more  widely  known  or  esteemed  as  a  man  and  as  a  lawyer ;  but  guer- 
rillas are  no  respecters  of  persons.  One  of  them  walked  deliberately 
around,  the  buggy  with  an  axe,  breaking  the  spokes  in  the  wheels  until 


1 86  .     FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

the  body  of  the  vehicle  rested  on  the  ground.  The  horse,  of  course, 
was  appropriated  by  the  highwaymen,  and  Bickerstaff  's  clothes  were 
thoroughly  searched.  The  horse  was  assigned  by  the  captain  of  the 
thieves  to  one  of  his  men,  who  bestrode  a  hideously  ugly,  long-haired, 
emaciated  mule.  The  captain  remarked,  '  That  mule,  Mr.  Bicker- 
staff,  drew  a  dray  twenty  years  in  Memphis.  We  stole  him  at  night, 
when  we  couldn't  see.  He  will  go  back  rapidly.'  Bickerstaff  was 
about  to  set  c*ff  on  the  mule,  congratulating  himself  that  be  had  escaped 
so  fortunately,  when  the  little,  short,  round  thief  who  now  held 
Bickerstaff's  horse,  said  that  he  'must  have  the  great  lawyer's  clothes. 
You  won't  have  time  to  freeze  in  mine.  That  old  mule  has  been  try- 
ing to  go  towards  Memphis  all  day.  You'll  travel  when  you  start ;  but 
I  must  swap  clothes  with  you.  My  coat  and  breeches  are  nearly  worn 
out.  Git  down  and  shuck  yourself;  I  can  roll  up  your  sleeves  and 
trowsers  and  have  a  perfect  fit.' 

"  The  captain  of  the  squad  interposed.  '  Dismount,'  he  said  ;  '  you 
have  only  five  miles  to  ride,  and  will  go  a-Gilpin,  I  think.  Swap  with 
that  young  man  ;  I  want  to  see  how  you  two  will  look  when  you've 
exchanged  drygoods.' 

"The  freebooters  were  half  drunk.  Bickerstaff  hesitated;  but  the 
captain  was  relentless,  and  there  on  the  dreary  roadside,  shivering  in 
the  cold  wind,  the  dignified  and  learned  lawyer  thrust  his  long  legs 
through  the  short,  rusty  breeches,  and  his  interminable  arms  through 
the  contracted  sleeves  of  the  round  little  rebel's  ragged  roundabout. 

"  'Here's  your  mule,  mount  him  and  go,'  said  the  captain  of  the 
squad  to  Bickerstaff.  '  '  Go  !  I  tell  you.  We  wish  to  see  you  start.  Oh  ! 
you  are  a  beauty  !  The  fit  of  your  clothes  and  your  shape  are  charm- 
ing. You  will  be  sending  out  a  cavalry  force  to  recover  your  property 
as  soon  as  you  get  into  Memphis,  and  we  must  march ;  but  I  would 
first  see  how  fascinating  you  are.  If  I'm  caught,  don't  forget  that  you 
are  my  lawyer.  They'll  hang  me  if  they  can.  Remember,  Judge, 
that  I've  given  you  that  mule  and  them  pretty  clothes  as  a  retainer.' 

"Bickerstaff,  with  most  sorrowful  visage,  rode  away.  The  robbers 
could  not  restrain  themselves.  Cold  as  they  were,  and  miserable  as 
was  poor,  shivering  Bickerstaff,  they  laughed  till%  his  nose,  blown  like 
a  weathercock  to  the  right  or  left  by  the  pitiless  winds,  and  the  jog- 
ging mule,  whose  bones  rattled  as  he  trotted  away,  were  no  longer 
visible.  Bickerstaff  felt  badly.  One  yard  of  each  leg  was  covered  by 
socks  and  drawers  only.  There  was  a  vacant  space,  overspread  by 
white  linen  alone,  of  almost  a  yard,  between  the  lower  hem  of  the 
rusty,  ragged  roundabout  and  the  upper  rim  or  waistband  of  the  greasy, 
copperas  homespun  breeches.  That  he  might  not  freeze,  Bickerstaff 
kicked  vigorously  and  threw,  his  arms  violently  about  his  head,  and 
jogged  along  rapidly.  He  drew  his  fur  cap  tightly  down  to  conceal 
his  nose  and  face,  and  went,  bent  forward,  kicking,  and  cursing  his 
luck,  into  the  city.  The  few  wayfarers  on  the  street  stared  at  him  in 
unutterable  wonder.  He  only  pulled  down  his  cap  and  kicked  the 
mule's  ribs  and  bent  forward  till  his  shirt,  no  longer  reaching  his  pants, 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  187 

fluttered  in  the  icy  breath  of  January  1,  1S64.  He  entered  Pinch,  the 
densely  populated  Irish  district.  Ireland  loves  fun.  Even  the  women 
turned  out.  Bar-rooms  were  emptied,  and  hot  whiskey  was  forgotten. 
A  great  mob,  from  a  quarter  of  the  city  which  produces  annually  three 
thousand  Democratic  votes,  and  in  which  there  was  little  sympathy 
with  the  woes  of  the  Whig  and  Unionist,  Bickerstaff,  was  soon  gathered 
about  the  woe-begone  mule  and  its  luckless  rider. 

"  'Isn't  he  a  beauty,  Bridget?' 

"  '  Oh!  the  swate  crayther;  its  the  raon  I  mane,  and  not  the  dirthy 
baste.' 

"  'An'  the  tailor  that  made  thim  coat  and  britches,  wasn't  he 
sparin'  of  the  cloth  ?  Me  old  mon  is  hard-up  and  it  will  give  him  a  job. ' 
And  yells  and  shouts  of  laughter  rent  the  air.  The  mob  grew  apace, 
and  while  the  chagrined,  maddened  Bickerstaff  kicked  and  cuffed  the 
ancient,  bony  mule,  the  hooting,  roaring  throng  accompanied  him  in 
grand  triumphal  procession  to  his  office  in  the  centre  of  the  city.  He 
escaped  at  last,  his  friends,  in  a  body,  moving  to  his  relief,  and  bearing 
him  in  a  swoon  of  horror  and  cold  from  the  mule  into  his  private 
apartments. 

"  'Poor  Bickerstaff,'  said  the  prisoner  who  told  me  this  story, 
'never  recovered  from  the  effects  of  exposure,  chagrin,  and  shame  re- 
sulting from  this  pitiful  adventure.  He  did  not  long  survive  it.  A 
numberless,  tearful  procession  of  friends  and  admirers  followed  his 
elongated  coffin  to  the  grave.  The  endless  throng,  as  it  moved  slowly 
and  solemnly  to  the  famed  and  beautiful  cemetery  of  Elmwood,  about 
which  the  newspaper  man  once  wrote  a  book,  talked  of  the  kindly 
Bickerstaff  in  soft,  low,  pitying  undertones.  Genial  smiles  at  first  shed 
sunshine  over  the  multitude;  but  as  coincident  facts  were  recalled  and 
recited,  the  mirthfulness  of  the  procession  grew  in  force,  It  was  the 
more  violent  because  of  the  necessity  for  its  repression.  The  very  sad- 
ness and  solemnity  of  the  occasion  gave  force  to  ridiculous  stories  then 
reproduced,  and  the  absurdest  and  jolliest  procession  that  ever  entered 
a-graveyard,  these  Tennesseeanssaid,  went  roaring  with  laughter,  when 
poor  Bickerstaff  was  entombed,  into  Elmwood.'  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


An  Extraordinary   Escape. — We  Take  Water. — A  Voice   in  the  Wilderness. — Was 
it  a  Spirit? — A  True  Man  and  Heroic  Wife. 

"You  know,"  the  captain  said  to.  Mrs.  Hughes,  while  we  were 
seated  the  next  evening  about  her  broad  fire-place,  "the  farmer,  Wil- 
lingham,  who  lives  perhaps  five  miles  north  of  your  upper  plantation? 
I  had  information  that  induced  Mr.  Spratling  and  myself  to  call  to 
see  him  at  his  modest  home.  He  has  a  good  face,  and,  after  a  brief 
interview,  I  said  to  Spratling  that  I  was  almost  unwilling  to  arrest 
such  a  man  charged  with  so  heinous  an  offence.  That  he  had 
deserted  his  colors,  we  knew  to  be  a  fact,  but  when  I  saw  his  bright, 
busy  little  wife  spinning  cotton  threads  inside  the  cabin  door,  while 
three  pretty  children  rolled  about  in  the  yard,  I  could  not  help 
thinking  that  such  a  man,  with  such  ties,  and  such  duties  imposed  by 
God's  laws,  should  not  be  put  to  death  for  desertion  of  a  cause,  which; 
even  if  defensible  in  law  and  morals,  is  rapidly  and  palpably  becoming 
almost  hopeless. 

"  But  my  duty  was  plain  and  its  exactions  inexorable.  I  ordered 
Willingham  to  leave  his  plow  in  the  unfinished  furrow  and  presenting 
handcuffs  said  that  he  must  accompany  us  to  the  quarters  of  the 
Provost  Marshal  General.  The  poor  fellow  shrank  back  aghast.  His 
face  was  of  ashen  hue.  His  limbs  shook.  He  sank,  at  last,  help- 
lessly upon  the  ground.  But  his  cowardice  was  redeemed  by  generous, 
unselfish  devotion  to  his  pretty,  little,  unsuspecting  wife  who  had  told 
us  where  to  find  him.      His  first  low,  half-sobbed  exclamation  was: 

"  'And  what  will  become  of  my  helpless  wife  and  children?  And 
then  that  I  should  bring  down  upon  them  this  inexpressible  sorrow 
and  disgrace !  ' 

"I  confess  I  was  almost  unmanned  by  the  anguish  of  the  hapless 
wretch,  and  it  occurred  to  me  to  devise  a  pretext   for  his  possible 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  189 

escape.  I  had  forty  dollars  in  gold,  given  me  by  .General  B.  J.  Hill, 
the  Provost  Marshal  General,  that  I  might  obtain  articles,  greatly 
needed,  from  Federal  stores  in  Cleveland.  I  said  to  Willingham  that 
he  had  taken  the  'iron-clad  oath,'  and  that  his  loyalty  to  the  'old 
flag'  was  not  questioned,  and  that  if  he  would  go  to  Cleveland  that 
night  and  the  next  day,  and  meet  me  at  the  great  oak  that  had  fallen 
across  the  main  road  at  the  mill  on  Coahuila  Creek,  bringing  with 
him  the  articles  wanted  by  General  Hill,  that  he,  Willingham,  should 
be  liberated  and  unharmed  by  the  Confederate  authorities. 

"  Willingham  assented,  received  the  forty  dollars,  and  Spratling  and 
I,  as  you  remember,  returned  to  this  place.  I  never  doubted  Willing- 
ham's  integrity  of  purpose.  But  V  Jiomme  propose,  et  Dieu  dispose.  Two 
cunning  bushwhackers  had  traced  Spratling  and  myself  to  Willing- 
ham's  house  and  witnessed,  at  a  safe  distance,  our  interview  with  him. 
We  were  hardly  out  of  sight,  as  we  learned  only  yesterday  evening 
from  the  wife,  when  these  two  men,  by  threatening  to  declare  at  the 
nearest  Federal  outpost  that  Willingham  had  been  seen  in  close  con- 
sultation with  two  most  murderous  and  daring  Confederate  scouts, 
compelled  the  frightened  Willingham  to  divulge  all  that  had  been 
said  and  agreed  upon.  The  bushwhackers  at  once  forced  Willingham 
to  accompany  them.  He  was  only  given  time  to  enter  his  house, 
change  his  apparel  and  make  his  little  wife  cognizant  of  his  agreement 
with  us.  He  instructed  her,  in  case  he  did  not  return  in  time,  to 
meet  us  at  the  fallen  oak,  and  warn  us  of  possible  danger  and  tell  of 
his  own  capture  and  helplessness.  Of  course  we  knew  nothing  of  all 
this  till  yesterday  evening. 

"When  the  day  came  for  the  meeting  with  Willingham,  as  you 
remember,  Spratling  and  I  left  here  about  three  o'clock.  There  was 
ample  time  in  which  to  reach,  at  sunset,  the  place  of  rendezvous. 
We  trudged  along  leisurely  enough,  and  were  passing  through  a  dense 
wood  two  miles  or  more  from  the  great  fallen  tree  beside  the  field  at 
which  we  were  to  meet  Willingham. 

"lam  not  superstitious.  I  never  encountered  a  ghost,  though  I 
once  thought  differently,  when,  as  I  was  telling  some  time  ago,  the 
unhappy  woman  rose  up  out  of  the  newly-made  grave  at  the  little 
church  not  far  from  Mrs.  Shields'.  But  as  Spratling  and  I  moved 
along  quietly  towards  the  rendezvous,  two  miles  distant,  I  heard,  with 
perfect  distinctness,  a  clear,  soft  voice,  telling  me,  'Don't  go,  oh  ! 
don't  go!'  I  stopped  and  asked  Spratling,  'Didn't  you  hear  that 
woman's  voice?  It  reminds  me  of  the  low,  sweet,  childish  tones  in 
which  Willingham's  little  wife  told  us  where  to  find  her  husband.' 
But  Spratling  heard  nothing.  My  senses  were  wonderfully  acute. 
Some  inscrutable  inspiration  was  telling  me,  at  every  step,  that  we 
should  not  go  further.  A  somber  melancholy  was  shed  over  the  dense 
woods  by  the  sun's  pale  rays,  hardly  penetrating  mists  of  the  wintry 
afternoon,  and  diffused  like  gold  dust  over  the  yellow  leaves  of  the 
lowly-moaning  trees. 

"Again  I  heard  the  soft,  low  wailing  of  a  woman's  voice,  clear  and 


1 9o  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

distinct,  but  seemingly  a  long,  long  way  off.     It  only  repeated  the 
words,  'Don't  go,  oh  !  don't  go  !  ' 

"I  could  not  shake  off  the  effect  of  the  unaccountable  supplication. 
I  repeated  it  again  and  again  to  Spratling,  insisting  that  I  heard  in 
the  remote  distance  the  wail  of  sorrow  of  poor  Willingham's  wife. 
She  was  surely  begging  us  not  to  meet  her  husband  at  the  fallen  oak. 
'  Of  course,'  I  said  musingly,  '  it  is  impossible ;  but  the  words  do  come 
with  perfect  distinctness,  and  I  was  not  dreaming,  when  I  first  heard 
them,  of  the  woman  or  of  any  probable  danger.' 

"When  the  mysterious  warning  was  again  repeated,  I  said  to  Sprat- 
ling,  '  I  wish  to  go  back;  let  us  respect  this  strange  invocation.  I'll 
tell  you  that  the  spirit  of  the  good  little  woman  who  asked  us  to  eat 
at  her  table,  and  brought  us  so  cheerily  that  great  gourd  full  of  re- 
freshing spring-water,  and  directed  us  so  smilingly  to  her  husband  in 
the  field — I'll  tell  yon  that  she  or  her  wraith  is  somewhere  in  these 
woods  to  save  us  from  some  great  peril.' 

"Spratling  answered  me  that  if  I  had  not  talked  about  ghosts  and 
strange  voices  in  the  air,  he  might  have  been  persuaded  to  turn  back ; 
but  to  be  cowards,  and  cowards  for  such  a  reason,  because  we  thought 
we  heard  a  woman  crying,  who  was  certainly  five  or  six  miles  away, 
was  a  proposition  too  ridiculous  to  be  entertained.  '  We  would  be 
laughed  out  of  the  army  about  it.' 

"I  could  only  assent;  and  yet  faintly,  more  faintly,  dying  away  at 
last  among  the  gentle  sounds  made  by  the  pale  leaves,  that  rattled 
softly  when  the  trees  were  swayed  by  the  cold  breath  of  the  silent 
afternoon,  did  I  hear  the  woman's  clear,  low,  distinct  words,  'Don't 
go,  oh  !  don't  go  !' 

"We  were  now  within  a  few  hundred  yards,  as  we  thought,  of  the 
rendezvous,  and,  of  course,  moving  very  slowly  and  watchfully.  The 
sun's  slanting  rays  only  touched  the  treetops,  and  the  shadows  of  a 
misty  February  evening  were  gathering  slowly  about  us.  We  were 
not  sure  of  our  precise  distance  from  the  fallen  oak,  where  Willingham 
was  to  meet  us,  or  deposit  the  articles  bought  for  us  in  Cleveland. 
My  senses  were  wrought  up  to  the  highest  tension,  and  again  did  I 
tell  Spratling,  in  a  low  whisper,  'Listen  ;  don't  you  hear  the  tender, 
earnest  wailing  of  that  little  woman  ?  It  is  far  away,  but  seems  borne 
along  the  ground  and  clasps  my  feet.'  I  stood  still,  and  a  cold  tremor 
ran  over  me.  My  senses  were  never  so  acute.  'Stop,'  I  said;  'see 
there!'  And  yet  Spratling  saw  nothing  and  heard  nothing.  But  I  did; 
I  saw  the  pale  light  of  that  cold,  silent  afternoon  flash  from  a  gilded 
button  in  the  dense  thicket,  a  hundred  yards  away  on  our  right.  At 
the  same  instant,  as  I  believed,  I  beheld  the  sudden  movement  of  a 
woman's  ghostly  apparel  in  the  same  dense  woods.  I  grasped  Sprat- 
ling's  arm,  and  both  stood  still,  while  I  whispered  of  what  I  heard  and 
saw. 

"  We  crossed  an  open  space,  and  were,  perhaps,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  a  fence  on  our  left,  enclosing  a  long,  narrow  field  beyond  it,  two 
hundred  yards  wide.     Far  away  on  our  right  was  the  dense  thicket. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  191 

"  'Look,'  I  whispered  to  Spratling,  'don't  you  see  men  lying  on 
their  faces  along  the  verge  of  the  thicket?' 

"He  answered,  'I  see  nothing;  you  have  surely  gone  mad.' 

"Just  then  a  dismounted  cavalryman  rose  up.  In  sonorous  accents 
he  ordered  us  to  'Halt,  there!'  Twenty  figures  sprang  from  the 
weeds  and  grass  and  low  bushes  along  the  road,  and  mounted  men 
were  visible  ahead  of  us.  Time  for  reflection  was  brief,  and  questions 
of  policy  few.  If  we  surrendered,  we  would  be  shot  or  hanged  on  the 
spot.  If  we  fled,  by  bare  possibility,  we  might  escape.  Of  course, 
flight  was  instantaneous.  We  did  not  run  directly  from  our  pur- 
suers, but  diagonally  across  the  open  space  towards  the  field.  Men 
using  rifles  or  pistols  know  how  certainly  they  kill  a  bird  flying 
directly  from  them,  and  how  certainly  they  fail  when  the  bird  flies 
diagonally  across  the  line  of  the  shot.  Spratling  and  I  ran  so  that  our 
backs  were  not  exposed  to  the  shots  of  pursuers.  A  bullet  passed 
through  my  cap,  and  left  its  hot  breath  on  the  crown  of  my  head. 
Spratling' s  baggy  breeches  were  pierced,  a  bullet  leaving  its  mark  on 
his  knee-cap.  We  heard  bullets  sing  merrily  while  we  ran  furiously 
towards  the  fence.  We  climbed  or  leaped  it.  It  was  no  obstruction 
in  this  maddening  race.  We  had  crossed  half  the  width  of  the  field 
when  a  bullet,  piercing  the  dense  folds  of  my  blanket,  which  was 
rolled  and  wrapped  over  one  shoulder  and  under  the  other,  cut  the 
string  confining  its  ends.  It  fell  and  I  left  it.  We  were  still  un- 
harmed and  nearing  the  woods,  when,  through  the  growing  shadows 
of  the  evening,  we  saw  that  mounted  men  had  passed  round  the  little 
field  to  intercept  us.  Our  struggles  were  now  superhuman.  We  had 
outstripped  those  on  foot  and  knew,  at  a  glance,  that  if  the  horsemen 
met  no  obstruction,  we  could  hardly  precede  them  in  entering  the 
woods.  Spratling  and  I  kept  far  enough  apart  to  prevent  the  death  of 
both  by  one  bullet.  There  is  as  much  skill,  courage,  and  coolness 
illustrated  in  flight  as  in  attack. 

"A  little  creek  ran  across  the  field  into  a  larger  stream,  the  Coa- 
huila.  The  cavalrymen,  seeking  to  intercept  us,  were  retarded  by  this 
obstruction.  They  fired  at  us,  but,  their  horses  at  full  speed,  of  course, 
harmlessly.  We  crossed  the  fence  and  entered  the  dense  woods,  in  the 
verge  of  which  ran  the  larger  stream. 

"What  was  our  horror,  reaching  the  creek,  to  find  the  further  shore 
a  precipitous  height,  which  we  could  not  ascend.  The  cavalrymen 
were  hard  by.  Entangled  among  vines  and  dense  undergrowth,  they 
swore  vigorously.  We  heard  the  shouts  of  our  other  pursuers  at  the 
fence  we  had  last  surmounted. 

"  '  Caught  at  last,'  I  said  in  a  low  tone  to  Spratling,  as  we  stood  in 
the  dim  twilight  and  dense  shade  of  the  forest  on  the  banks  of  the 
mountain  torrent.  A  tree  had  fallen  into  the  creek,  lying  low  along 
the  water's  surface,  and  partly  submerged. 

"  'There  is  no  help  for  it,'  I  whispered,  'we  must  enter  the  water 
and  get  beneath  that  tree.'  After  such  a  race,  the  water  seemed  of 
icy  coldness.     The  tree's  body  was  slightly  curved,  and  upheld  along 


1 92  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

its  length  by  its  great  branches.  There  was  a  space,  at  one  point,  of 
four  or  five  inches  between  it  and  the  water's  surface.  We  immersed 
ourselves,  and  stood  half  erect  in  the  stream  beneath  the  fallen  tree. 
The  cavalrymen  rode  up  and  down  the  creek,  seeking  in  vain  for  a 
crossing-place.  They  uttered  horrible  imprecations.  They  had  recog- 
nized ray  fidus  Achates,  Spratling,  and  supposed  at  last  that  he  had 
climbed  the  precipice,  carrying  me  upon  his  back. 

"When  men  on  foot  reached  the  spot,  two  crossed  the  creek  on  the 
log  beneath  which  we  shivered  in  unutterable  iciness.  Men  never 
suffered  more  in  moments  that  seemed  an  age  of  anguish.  But  when 
these  weary  soldiers  went  back  and  forth  above  our  heads,  we  were 
resting  securely  veiled  beneath  the  first  deep  shadows  of  nightfall. 
The  last  soldier  who  stood  above,  and  within  two  feet  of  my  head, 
muttered  maledictions,  leveled  at  Spratling  and  myself. 

"Motionless  awhile,  and  lookingupand  down  the  precipice,  evidently 
wondering  how  we  climbed  it,  he  pronounced  a  few  homely  oaths,  sig- 
nificant of  disappointment,  and  went  slowly  away.  How  slowly,  none 
can  imagine  save  Spratling  and  I,  almost  dying  in  this  intolerably 
cold  bath. 

"Never  doubting  that  we  had  crossed  the  creek,  and  were  far  be- 
yond it,  the  Yankee  captain  of  the  squad  soon  gathered  his  men  in 
the  field.  They  were  weary  and  hungry,  and  when  we,  half  dead  and 
shivering,  reached  the  enclosure,  we  heard  the  order,  'Fall  in,  men;' 
and  then,  finding  that  none  were  missing,  came  the  words,  to  us  most 
grateful,  'Forward,  march  !'  We  entered  the  field  and  found  my  dry 
blanket  on  the  yellow  grass.  We  cut  it  in  two  and  substituted  it 
about  our  freezing  bodies  for  wet  clothing.  Then  we  set  out  for  this 
place. 

"But  the  memory  of  those  strange  words,  'Don't  go,  oh!  don't 
go!'  made  me  hesitate.  I  reminded  Spratling  of  what  I  had  surely 
heard.  'No  impression  made  by  events  of  to-day  will  last  as  long,' 
I  said,  '  as  that  wrought  by  the  mysterious,  womanly  voice  to  which  I 
listened  late  this  afternoon.  I  cannot  leave  this  place  till  satisfied 
that  Willingham's  little  wife  is  not  here.' 

"  'How  absurd,'  insisted  Spratling,  'that  you  should  have  heard 
her,  when  we  have  never  been  within  half  a  mile  of  the  fallen  oak, 
where  we  were  to  have  seen  her  husband.  She  surely  did  not  accom- 
pany him;  on  the  contrary,  he  betrayed  us,  and  neither  he  nor  his 
wife  are  here.' 

"  'I  can't  help  it,'  I  answered;  'you  may  leave  me,  if  you  like, 
but,  suffering  as  I  am,  I  must  go  to  the  fallen  oak.' 

"We  turned  towards  it.  It  lay  at  the  end  of  the  field  near  the 
creek,  and  more  than  half  a  mile  from  the  point  at  which  the  pursuit 
and  flight  had  been  begun. 

"At  the  root  of  the  tree,  sure  enough,  on  the  cold  ground,  lay  the 
brave  little  woman.  She  was  moaning  in  her  seemingly  broken  sleep. 
We  could  catch  no  words.  The  side  of  her  face  was  swollen  and 
black.     We  read  at  a  glance,  even  by  the  light  of  the  stars,  what  had 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  193 

befallen  her.  I  was  never  so  enraged,  but  was  silenced  by  Spratling's 
imprecations.  Cold  as  we  had  been,  we  had  not  exhausted  a  capacious 
flask  of  brandy  which  always  accompanied  us.  I  raised  the  almost 
lifeless  body  very  tenderly  while  Spratling,  from  the  little  cup  that 
covered  the  stopple,  administered  the  brandy.  A  tremor  ran  over  her 
frame;  and  at  last  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  looking  up  into  our  faces, 
closed  them,  evidently  to  shut  out  visions  of  a  supposed  dream.  She 
drank  again,  and  then  asked  who  we  were  and  'Where  am  I?'  and 
'How  did  I  get  here?'  We  slowly  reassured  her.  At  length  she 
stood  up,  and  then  she  began  to  recall  and  recount  the  events  of  the 
terrible  day. 

"As  we  bore  her  in  a  hammock  made  of  Spratling's  blanket,  I  hold- 
ing one  and  he  the  other  end,  to  her  home,  she  recited  the  story  of 
her  adventures.  Her  husband  was  imprisoned  at  Cleveland,  and  she 
came  to  the  fallen  oak  to  warn  us  of  danger.  She  had  brought  the 
forty  dollars  in  gold  to  return  it  to  us,  and  even  then  had  it  concealed 
on  her  person.  She  went  near  the  fallen  oak,  and  finding  soldiers 
already  there,  wandered  about  the  woods,  in  growing  anxiety  and 
alarm,  as  night  was  coming  on,  till  she  was  insane  with  terror.  She 
said,  'I  remember  begging  you  not  to  go  to  the  fallen  oak,  and  that 
while  I  was  saying,  "Don't  go!  oh,  don't  go !  "  I  was  silenced  by  a 
great,  rude  soldier  who  came  suddenly  out  of  the  bushes  and  knocked 
me  down.  He  thought  he  had  killed  me;  for  I  saw  him  no  more, 
and  only  remember  saying  in  the  dreams  that  afterward  came,  "  Don't 
go  !  oh,  don't  go !  "  I  thought  I  was  talking  to  you  two  soldiers  who 
had  been  good  to  my  poor  husband.'  " 

The  fire  was  burning  low  when  Spratling  said  : 

"We  bore  the  little  woman  safely  to  her  cabin  and  made  her  retain 
the  gold  fairly  lost  by  the  Provost  Marshal-General,  as  he  will  confess 
when  we  tell  him  of  our  adventures  of  yesterday." 

"Meanwhile,"  interposed  the  captain,  "I  would  gladly  have  Mrs. 
Hughes  and  Mrs.  Starnes,  or  the  philosophic  Mr.  Wade  and  the  news- 
paper man,  tell  me  how  I  heard,  through  the  woods  and  in  the  air  and 
creeping  along  the  earth,  the  strangely  muttered  words  and  prayers  of 
the  earnest,  brave  little  woman  when  she  warned  me,  '  Don't  go  !  oh, 
don't  go!  '  She  was  probably  two  miles  from  us  when  I  first  caught 
the  sounds,  and  most  distinctly,  '  Don't  go  !  oh,  don't  go  !  '  We  found 
her  cold  and  senseless,  more  than  half  a  mile  from  the  path  we  trod. 
Does  that  odic  and  phrenic  force  through  which  one  brain  is  said  to 
communicate  with  another,  like  two  distant  telegraphic  stations,  also 
reach  the  external  senses?  I  know  I  heard  the  very  words  and  listened 
to  the  low,  sweet  voice  of  the  brave  little  women  when  she  was  two 
miles  distant,  and  I  know  that  Spratling  thinks  that  God  is  in  it." 

The  fire  had  burned  very  low  and  ashes  covered  the  living  coals 
and  dead  fagots  had  fallen  over  the  andirons  when  we  bade  one 
another  good  night. 

13 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


The  Hughes  Farmhouse  assailed  by  Federal  Soldiers. — Heroism  of  Bessie  Starnes. — 
Conclusion. 

In  memory's  garden  long  I  sought 

To  cull  the  fairest  flowers  of  thought, 

A  worthier  tribute  to  have  brought ; 

But  these  winged  flowers,  by  zephyrs  blown. 

Soared  upward  to  the  great  white  throne, 

For  there  the  "  Unknown"  all  are  known. 

Emily  Thornton  Charles. 

The  sun  Avas  rising  when  the  faithful,  watchful  negro,  Jack,  made 
watchful  because  he  discovered  that  either  Spratling,  the  Captain,  or 
the  Mississippi  cavalryman  was  pacing  back  and  forth  in  the  front 
yard  through  the  night,  was  heard  at  the  door  : 

"Mistiss!  mistiss !  De  Yanks  is  cummin!  Deas  a  eben  duzzen. 
Dis  nigga  counted  'em  dis  time." 

There  was  wildest  confusion  in  the  residence  and  among  the 
negroes.  The  Captain,  Spratling,  and  the  Mississippian,  trained  sol- 
diers, and  accustomed  to  war's  alarms  and  surprises,  were  cooly  intent 
on  preparations  for  defence. 

"See,"  said  the  Captain  to  Spratling,  "that  the  schoolmaster  and 
Lieutenant  Hughes  remain  in  their  room.  They  cannot  share  in  this 
fight.  We  need  only  knock  three  or  four  of  those  gay  fellows  out  of 
their  saddles  and  the  rest  will  run  away.  They  are.  not  crazy  to  fight, 
and  only  want  plate,  gold,  jewels,  and  pictures.  Four  of  us  can  make 
it  impossible  for  them  to  come  near  enough  to  apply  a  torch  and  burn 
us  out ;  that  is  the  only  danger." 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  195 

A  gaily  dressed  subordinate  officer  was  in  command  of  the  assail- 
ants. Spratling,  watching  from  a  window  the  approach  of  the  enemy, 
said  : 

"I  don't  like  the  signs  out  there  ;  I  never  saw  a  vain  fellow,  tricked 
out  in  gold  lace  and  feathers  as  gaudily  as  that  young  ape,  who  would 
not  fight  desperately.  Vanity  stimulates  and  makes  his  courage 
drunken.     That  fellow  will  give  us  trouble." 

Doors  were  barred  and  bolted,  and  windows  closed  in  apartments 
below,  occupied  by  Mrs.  Hughes  and  other  inmates  of  the  house- 
hold, and  everything  was  ready  for  action. 

"Didn't  you  hear  the  Captain  order  my  brother  and  Mr.  Wade 
to  remain  in  their  room?  It  is  just  over  ours,"  said  Mamie.  "  Let 
us  join  them  ;  I  would  die  here  of  mortal  anxiety,  seeing  nothing,  and 
hearing  firearms  and  quick,  sharp  words  of  command,  and  not  know- 
ing who  has  fallen." 

"Of  course,"  answered  Bessie;  "we  will  disobey  orders.  I  am 
skillful  as  yourself  in  the  use  of  a  pistol.  Mr.  Spratling  gave  me  a 
beautiful  weapon  and  taught  me  how  to  use  it.  The  good  school- 
master told  us  how  you  learned  to  handle  guns  and  pistols  in  East 
Tennessee." 

Spratling  was  looking  from  the  window  in  the  front  room  when 
the  two  girls,  unseen,  entered  the  apartment  at  the  head  of  the  stair- 
way, occupied  by  Mr.  Wade  and  Lieutenant  Hughes.  The  mothers 
of  the  girls  followed,  more  frightened  than  Mamie,  and  infinitely 
more  than  fearless  Bessie  Starnes,  whose  constant  contact  with  soldiers, 
through  months,  and  even  years;  whose  modes  of  life,  such  as  are  led 
by  the  people  in  the  wild  country  about  Chattanooga,  and  whose 
habits  of  thinking,  induced  by  stories  told  by  Spratling,  and  countless 
men  who  frequented  the  country  in  which  she  lived,  had  inculcated 
lessons  not  without  value  at  a  time  like  this.  Bessie  knew  little  of 
books,  but  everything  of  country  life,  and  everything  of  which  soldiers 
talked. 

She  told  the  lieutenant  to  assume  his  uniform.  "You  can't  fight, 
and  if  we  are  whipped,  you  can  save  us.  But  there  is  no  use  in  our 
being  whipped.  Mother  and  I  have  kept  drunken  soldiers  out  of  our 
house  when  they  threatened  to  plunder  and  destroy  it.  To  bs  shot 
from  behind  a  brick  wall  like  this,  and  by  a  woman,  at  that,  isn't  com- 
fortable. These  wandering  Yankee  soldiers  may  be  the  bravest  of  the 
brave  ;  but  there  is  no  need  to  show  heroism  here,  where  nobody  sees 
it,  and  where  nobody  will  know  of  it  if  they  run.  They  only  want 
Mrs.  Hughes'  silver  and  jewels.  These  Mr.  Spratling  has  concealed, 
and  he  will  fight  for  their  safety  with  ten-fold  the  pluck  of  men  who 
only  wish  to  rob  him.  Our  danger,"  added  Bessie,  who  sought  to 
reassure  Mrs.  Hughes,  "would  be  much  greater  if  these  soldiers  com- 
ing up  the  avenue  knew  that  two  pretty  girls  were  looking  at  them. 
They  wont  fight  after  they  have  learned  that  it  is  Spratling  and  the 
captain  they  have  hemmed  in.  All  these  scouts  have  heard  of  Sprat- 
ling:  but  they  don't  know  him  as  well  as  I  do.      They  never  saw  but 


196  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

one  side  of  him.  There  isn't  a  Yankee  scout  in  the  Yankee  service 
who  hasn't  heard  how  Spratiing  killed  the  bushwhacker  by  stamping 
him  into  the  earth  at  our  house,  and  not  one  who  hasn't  heard  how 
he  held  a  powerful  horse,  struggling  to  go  forward,  still  as  death  in 
the  road  with  one  hand,  grasping  the  hindmost  axle  of  the  wagon, 
while  he,  protected  by  the  wagon-body,  fired  and  killed  two  out  of 
three  assailants.  They  all  know  how  terrible  he  is;  but  they  don't 
know  how  good,  and  gentle,  and  truthful,  or  what  a  big  heart  he 
has." 

Bessie  had  forgotten  herself,  or  had  only  become  her  real  self,  and 
talked  freely,  when  excitement  and  dangers  of  the  moment  rendered 
others  silent  and  incapable.  She  glanced  at  the  lieutenant,  and  ex- 
pressions of  admiration  for  Spratling's  conduct  and  character  were 
instantly  silenced.  The  listening  lieutenant's  face  was  flushed,  and 
when  his  eyes  met  Bessie's  they  were  suddenly  averted.  She  was 
not  sure  that  he  suspected  her  fidelity  to  himself  or  her  devotion  to 
Spratiing,  then  almost  confessed.  She  imagined  at  the  moment  that 
he  did  doubt  her  honesty,  and  that  questioning  glance,  never  forgot- 
ten, was  reproduced  before  Bessie's  eyes  whenever  the  face  and  form 
of  her  affianced  lover,  in  after  years,  rose  up  from  the  dreamland 
of  memory. 

The  Yankee  marauders  approached  the  residence  very  warily.  A 
negro  had  informed  them  that  Spratiing  was  shot  through  the  shoulder 
and  that  the  four  Confederates  held  two  prisoners  in  the  building.  Sprat- 
ling's  supposed  helplessness,  and  the  fact  that  there  were,  as  they  un- 
derstood the  facts,  only  three  fighting  men  within,  and  that  one  of 
these  was  required  to  watch  the  two  prisoners  of  war,  induced  the 
marauders  to  make  the  assault.  The  Captain  and  newspaper  man 
occupied  a  window  each  in  the  room  on  the  right,  and  Spratiing  and 
the-  cavalryman  on  the  left,  of  the  building.  The  assailants  advanced 
slowly,  five  of  them  going,  when  within  one  hundred  yards  of  the 
house,  on  the  right  of  it,  and  five  to  the  left.  They  seemed  to  think 
that  the  inmates  would  seek  safety  in  flight. 

"Oh,  the  rascals!"  said  Spratiing.  "What  fools  and  cowards 
they  think  us?  Why  suspect  us  of  the  purpose  to  run?  What's  to  be 
made  by  it?  It  is  time  enough  to  run  when  we  "can  no  longer  fight, 
and  when  we  run  we  must  fight  at  last,  and  then,  unguarded  by  these 
strong  walls ;  and  then,  after  fighting,  I  think  there  will  be  fewer  to 
pursue  us,  and  of  these  a  few  will  be  lame.      Of  course  we  will  fight." 

The  Captain  need  not  have  said  it,  but  he  ordered  us  to  take  good 
aim.  "Make  ready,"  he  said  at  length,  as  if  we  were  duelists;  and 
then  came  the  word,  "Fire!" 

The  enemy  were  within  sixty  yards.  Three  saddles  were  emptied, 
and  the  leader's  horse  fell,  the  rider  seemingly  unharmed.  He  was  a 
gallant  little  fellow.  His  gorgeous  gold  lace  glittered  when  he  rose  up 
and  called  to  his  men,  "Follow  me!"  He  ran  to  the  porch,  one 
story  in  height,  and  was  secure  beneath  its  roof.  His  men  followed 
at  full  speed.     How  they  escaped,  we   could  not  tell;  but  only  one 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  197 

was  unhorsed  by  our  bullets,  though  others  were  wounded.  Horses 
were  turned  loose.  The  door  was  broken  from  its  fastenings,  and  the 
hallway  below  occupied  by  men  who  evidently  knew  how  and  in- 
tended to  fight. 

Lieutenant  Hughes  and  the  schoolmaster,  confined  in  an  apartment 
with  women,  were  most  restive.  Accustomed  to  danger,  and  wholly 
fearless,  they  were  most  impatient  of  this  restraint.  Their  sympathies, 
of  course,  were  with  the  defenders  of  the  residence.  As  Davy 
Crockett,  shut  up  in  the  Alamo,  when  accustomed  to  fight  beneath  the 
open  sky  and  in  the  open  woods,  begged  to  be  led  into  the  open 
plain  to  encounter  the  overwhelming  force  of  Mexicans,  so  the  school- 
master and  youthful  Union  soldier  were  impelled  to  violate  orders. 
When  the  great  door  gave  way  in  the  hall  below,  and  the  marauding- 
assailants  rushed  in,  the  lieutenant  could  not  restrain  himself.  He  and 
Mr.  Wade,  armed  with  pistols,  rushed  to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  The 
lieutenant  leaned  over  the  railing,  and  looking  down,  Avas  instantly 
shot.  The  bullet  pierced  his  body.  He  was  borne  bleeding  into 
the  apartment  he  had  just  left. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  dying,"  whispered  the  schoolmaster  to  Bessie.  "  I 
must  avenge  this.  See  the  anguish  and  dismay  written  in  the  eyes 
and  pale  faces  of  the  mother  and  sister?     I  am  a  rebel  now." 

Fie  placed  the  dying  youth  upon  the  bed,  the  mother  and  sister  and 
Bessie  looking  on,  horror-struck  and  helpless. 

All  of  us,  with  Mr.  Wade,  leaving  the  lieutenant  to  the  care  of  the 
women,  were  now  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Spratling  came  last.  He 
held  uplifted,  forgetful  of  his  wound,  a  long,  heavy  marble  slab,  taken 
from  a  bureau. 

"Stand  back!"  he  exclaimed;  "this  will  protect  me  and  destroy 
them.  Stand  back  !  I  will  crush  them.  Let  them  start  up  the  stair- 
way ! ' ' 

The  gallant  little  Yankee  popinjay  was  heard  to  say,  "We  have 
killed  one  of  them ;  I  hear  women's  wailing.  There  are  only  two 
fighting  men  left.  There  are  six  of  us  almost  unharmed.  We  must 
kill  or  capture  that  wounded  giant,  Spratling,  and  his  cunning  cap- 
tain. 

"Follow,  boys!"  he  exclaimed. 

They  started  up  the*  broad  stairway.  Spratling  stood  still.  They 
were  on  the  staircase,  when  he  suddenly  leaned  forward,  pitching  the 
ponderous  stone  edgewise  and  endwise,  with  tremendous  force,  down 
the  stairs.  Bullets  came  up  from  pistols  below,  only  to  strike  the 
lower  surface  of  the  descending  stone.  The  leader  and  three  others 
of  the  assailants  fell  beneath  the  shock  and  weight  of  the  marble  slab. 
The  rest  withdrew  to  the  front  door.  While  they  looked  after  their 
captain,  with  his  broken  skull,  and  others  killed  and  wounded,  we 
learned  from  Bessie,  whose  courage  never  faltered,  that  the  lieutenant, 
she  thought,  must  die. 

"  He  is  bleeding  internally,"  said  Bessie.  "  He  told  me  so,  and 
bade  his  mother  and  sister  stand  aside,  that  he  might  tell  me  this  and 


i9S  FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE. 

other  facts  he  did  not  wish  them  to  hear.  I  will  tell  you  some  day," 
said  Bessie  to  the  schoolmaster,  "but  not  now  ;"  and  she  turned  towards 
Spratling,  whose  arm  was  bleeding  afresh.  She  ran  to  his  side,  and 
looking  up  sadly  but  lovingly  into  his  face,  made  him  sit  down,  while 
she  bound  a  handkerchief  tightly  about  his  shoulder. 

The  Captain's  fitness  for  his  position  consisted  not  more  in  his  cour- 
age, endurance  and  cunning,  than  in  rapidity  of  thought  and  action. 
He  went  to  the  window  and  called  for  the  man  in  charge  of  the  Union 
scouts. 

"  See  here,"  said  he,  "  this  place  and  this  house  which  you  propose 
to  set  on  fire,  in  order  to  expel  us,  is  the  home  and  property  of  a 
Union  officer.  He  is  here  our  prisoner.  Accidentally  you  have  shot 
him.  He  will  die  if  you  do  not  have  a  surgeon  sent  to  his  relief.  It 
may  go  hard  with  you.  Ask  the  negroes  there  in  that  cabin  ;  they 
will  tell  that  all  I  say  of  Lieutenant  Hughes,  of  Colonel  Cliff's  regi- 
ment, is  true.  There  are  four  of  us  rebels.  We  will  never  be  taken 
alive,  as  you  have  reason  to  know ;  but  these  people  have  been  kind 
to  us,  and  served  one  of  our  number  who  was  wounded  some  time 
ago.  We  have  no  business  here  and  no  desire  to  remain.  Your 
Captain,  who  is  not  dead,  as  well  as  Lieutenant  Hughes,  needs  a 
surgeon.  If  you  will  agree  that  this  family  shall  be  protected  as  it 
must  be  when  you  know  that  Lieutenant  Hughes  is  its  head,  we  four 
rebels  will  leave.  Go  out  of  the  house.  We  will  not  fire  upon  you,  but 
propose  to  leave  in  twenty  minutes.  If  you  consent  to  these  terms, 
start  one  of  your  men  at  once  for  a  surgeon.  Send  the  negro,  Jack, 
for  the  country  doctor  whose  office  is  three  miles  distant." 

"All  right,"  a  voice  from  below  soon  responded,  and  the  Federal 
scouts  went  out.  We  counted  them  from  the  window.  Four  seemed 
unharmed.  Two  others  were  bleeding,  and  another  had  a  broken 
arm.     The  rest  of  the  twelve  were  dead  or  helpless. 

"It's  a  pretty  good  day's  work,"  said  Spratling.  "I  would  be 
well  pleased  if  it  wasn't  for  the  poor  lieutenant  lying  there,  his  young 
life  going  away  so  slowly  but  so  surely  that  while  he  suffers  not  at  all, 
he  feels  the  blood,  he  says,  gradually  filling  his  body.  The  mother 
and  sister  are  dazed  by  the  shock.  The  only  one  of  us  who,  as  we 
thought,  could  incur  no  danger  and  was  perfectly  safe,  has  fallen,  and — 
poor  Bessie  !  poor  Bessie  !  "  And  then  Spratling  drew  his  hand  across 
his  eyes,  and  after  a  moody  silence,  added  very  slowly,  "What  is  to 
become  of  Bessie  ?  ' ' 

His  eyes  were  fixed  on  vacuity. 

The  Captain  went  to  the  Lieutenant's  bedside.  Neither  uttered  a 
word. 

"  I  never  saw  the  Captain,"  said  Spratling,  telling  the  story  in 
after  years,  "  so  cast  down.  Mamie  was  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
gazing  into  the  pale  face  of  her  dying  brother.  The  mother  and 
Mrs.  Starnes  knelt  side  by  side.  Unconsciously  I  had  taken  Bessie's 
hand  and  was  drawn  to  the  Captain  by  a  force  of  sympathy  I  could 
not  resist. 


FAGOTS  FROM  THE  CAMP  FIRE.  199 

"While  tears,  the  first  I  ever  saw  the  Captain  shed,  streamed  down 
his  face — it  was  Mamie's  presence  and  grief  that  unmanned  him — he 
took  the  cold  hand  of  the  lieutenant  and  kissed  it.  He  turned  and 
was  going  away,  when  Mamie  ran  to  him  saying,  '  You  must  not  go. 
We  cannot  spare  you.' 

"  'Yes,'  he  answered  ;  '  if  I  and  my  men  do  not  leave,  re-enforce- 
ments will  come  to  these  intruders  below,  and  the  house  will  be 
burned  and  there  will  be  no  help  for  your  brother.  The  surgeon  will 
come.  I  have  sent  for  him.  I  will  return.  In  the  presence  of  your 
dying  brother,'  he  whispered,  'I  pledge   you  deathless  fidelity.' 

"He  drew  her  outside  the  doorway,  and  while  tears  streamed  down 
their  faces,  kissed  her." 

We  bade  adieu  to  the  good  and  brave  schoolmaster,  instructing  him 
to  communicate  with  us  through  General  Cleburne.  Spratling  said 
good  bye  to  Bessie,  telling  her  that  he  was  her  guardian  ;  that  he 
would  meet  her  in  Lexington  ;  and  that  the  schoolmaster  would  bring 
him  her  letters,  telling  her  how  to  address  him.  She  followed  Spratling 
to  the  door  leading  into  the  yard  and  kissed  him  as  confidingly  and 
affectionately  as  if  he  had  been  her  father.  He  was  thrilled  by 
it.  Her  face  was  flushed  when  she  detected  it  and  turned  away, 
with  tearful  eyes,  to  re-enter  the  chamber  of  death. 

Of  the  fortunes  of  the  Captain  and  of  Mamie  Hughes,  who  is  rear- 
ing a  family  in  Arkansas,  her  home  in  Georgia  having  been  destroyed 
and  property  swept  away,  the  writer  of  these  pages  may  tell  hereafter. 

Spratling's  love  of  adventure  grew  inversely  with  his  devotion  to 
pretty,  blithesome,  winning  Bessie  Starnes.  He  prized  Bessie's  life 
so  extravagantly  that  he  began  to  set  a  higher  value  upon  his  own. 
He  was  surrendered  with  the  wreck  of  General  Joe  Johnston's  army 
in  North  Carolina ;  and  when  last  heard  from,  was  reciting,  beside 
the  hearthstone  of  his  modest  ranch  in  Callahan  County,  Texas,  the 
very  stories  here  recorded.  Bessie,  the  heroine,  save  when  a  baby 
cries,  is  the  intentest  listener. 

THE    END. 


ERRATA. 

On  page   49    the   word  "Chickamauga"  should    be   substituted   for 
■"Chattanooga,"  and  on  page  1S1  a  paragraph  from  "Fern  Leaves" 

should  be  quoted. 


NEW  BOOKS. 


LIFE  OF 


GEN.  JAMES  P.  BROWNLOW, 


ONE  OF  THE  MOST  DARING  AND  ORGINAL  OF  FED- 
ERAL CAVALRY  COMMANDERS. 


In  three  years'  service,  beginning  in  the  nineteenth  year  of  his  age- 
he  was  in  seventy-three  battles  and  skirmishes  and  rose  from  the 
ranks  to  a  Brigadier  General's  position.  The  book,  containing  the 
name  of  every  officer  and  private  who  served  under  Brownlow,  is  by 

The  Author  of  "Fagots  from  the  Camp  Fire," 

and  now  in  press.     Those  wanting  it  should  send  name  and  address  to — 

E.  T.  CHARLES  &  CO., 

Washington,  D.  C. 


BOOK  TO  BE  PAID  FOR  ON  DELIVERY.    PRICE  $1.00 


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LIVES  OF 


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AND 


CHESTER  A.  ARTHUR. 


[NOW  READY.] 

A  COMPLETE  RECORD  OF  THEIR  EARLY  LIVES  AND 
POLITICAL  ADVANCEMENT. 


Full  and  accurate  account  of  Garfield's  Congressional  career,  his 
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sufferings ;  the  entire  official  bulletins,  with  extracts  from  leading 
journals  on  the  case,  and  funeral,  to  which  are  added  his  most  celebrated 
speeches.  Contains  excellent  engravings  of  Garfield  and  Arthur, 
Garfield's  wife  and  mother,  and  a  group  of  the  entire  family;  also 
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P.  O.  Box  643  Washington,  D.  C. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  SCRAP-BOOK. 


A  Charming  New  Book  for  Soldiers. 


attle   Scenes  and   War   Incidents. 


These  Campaign  Stories,  shortly  to  be  published,  are  principally 
written  by  the  members  of  the  rank  and  file,  and  will  be  appreciated 
by  their  thousands  of  comrades  scattered  all  over  the  country. 
This  book  will  be  published  by 

MRS.  EMILY  THORNTON  CHARLES, 

of  the  World  and  Soldier,  at  Washington,  who  has  a  national 
reputation  as  the  author  of  the  poem  "Unknown,"  delivered  by  her 
at  Arlington  Cemetery  on  Decoration  Day,  as  well  as  of  many  other 
poems  of  the  Avar,  which  will  be  published  for  the  first  time  in  book 
form  in  this  volume  which  will  contain  some  250  pages,  comprising 
anecdotes,  sketches  of  life  in  the  army,  reminiscences,  war  incidents, 
(humorous  and  mournful, )  vivid  descriptions  of  battles,  memorial 
poems,  songs  of  the  camp  and  field, — thousands  of  interesting  memen- 
toes of  personal  bravery  being  thus  preserved  to  history  in  condensed 
form  and  made  as  attractive  as  possible  by  the  careful  compilation  of 
the  best  contributions  to  the  press  ;  by  the  revision  of  many  a  pathetic 
story  as  told  by  the  brave-hearted  but  unlettered  boys  who  dared  the 
perils  of  war ;  and  by  the  introduction  of  some  of  the  best  original 
work  of  the  thorough  journalist  and  author  who  thus  seeks  to  do 
honor  to  the  veterans  of  the  war  who  formed  the  rank  and  file  of  the 
Union  army. 

EVERY  SOLDIER  WILL  WANT  THE  VOLUME. 

Of  the  lady  who  will  shortly  issue  this  volume  of  war  incidents,  the 
Cincinnati  Enquirer  says : 

"Mrs.  E.  T.  Charles,  editor  of  the  Washington  World  and  Soldier, 
who  addressed  the  ex-prisoners  of  war  Thursday  evening  at  the  High- 
land House,  is  well  known  in  literary  circles  by  her  nom  de  plume  of 
Emily  Hawthorne,  over  which  signature  she  has  published  a  volume 
of  poems,  "  Hawthorn  Blossoms,"  and  has  written  many  poems  of  the 
war.  In  1880,  she  read,  at  the  great  tomb  in  Arlington  Cemetery, 
her  poem  '  Unknown,'  and  was  decorated  with  the  badge  of  G.  A.  R.  ; 
and   in  1881,  she  again  took  part   in  the  decoration  ceremonies,  and 


recited  her  poem  'Arlington.'  In  appreciation  of  her  work  as 
editor  and  poet,  she  was  elected  an  honorary  member  of  the  Veteran 
Union  Corps,  of  Washington,  D.  C,  of  which  General  Garfield  and 
other  distinguished  officials  are  members,  Mrs.  Charles  being  the  only 
lady  so  honored.  Thursday,  the  2 2d,  she  will  be  the  guest  of  the 
G.  A.  R.  at  Lafayette,  Indiana  ;  is  placed  on  the  programme  of  the 
reunion  of  the  Tenth  Indiana  and  the  G.  A.  R.  camp  fire." 

Griswold,  so  well  known  as  the  "Fat  Contributor"  and  editor  of 
the  Cincinnati  Saturday  Night,  said  of  her  address  at  the  Soldiers'  and 
Sailors'  Reunion  in  that  city : 

"A  pleasant  feature  of  the  reunion  was  the  meeting  of  Union  ex- 
prisoners  of  war  at  the  Highland  House,  on  Saturday  night.  The 
weather  was  stormy,  yet  there  was  a  large  attendance.  Mrs.  Charles, 
(Emily  Hawthorne,)  editor  of  the  Washington,  ( D.  C.,)  World  and 
Soldier,  delivered  a  brief  and  pertinent  address,  after  which  she  read 
an  original  poem,  entitled  the  'Prison  Pen,'  appropriate  to  the 
occasion.  Both  the  address  and  poem  were  received  with  generous 
applause." 

EVERY  EX-PRISONER  OF  WAR  WANTS  IT. 

In  appreciation  of  her  address  as  the  soldier's  friend  and  advocate 
the  following  card  from  the  Ex-Prisoners  of  War  Association  was  pub- 
lished in  the  Cincinnati  Commercial : 

"  The  Association  of  Union  Ex-Prisoners  of  War  desire,  through  the 
columns  of  your  paper,  to  express  publicly  their  sincere  thanks  to  Mrs. 
Emily  Thornton  Charles,  poet  and  editor,  Washington  City,  for  the 
eloquent  address  with  which  she  favored  them  at  Highland  House, 
Thursday  evening,  and  especially  to  express  their  high  appreciation 
ot  the  remarkably  realistic  poem  descriptive  of  the  horrors  of  prison 
life.     She  has  honored  the  association  by  dedicating  it  thereto." 

The  address  and  poem  will  both  be  published  in  the  new  volume. 
The  president  of  the  association  says  he  "wouldn't  be  without  a  copy 
of  the  poem  for  ten  dollars." 

Correspondence  World  and  Soldier  : 

"I  am  an  ex-prisoner,  and  consequently  enjoyed  the  treat  given  us 
by  that  most  excellent  lady,  the  soldiers'  guardian  angel,  Mrs.  Emily 
T.  Charles.  We  beg  to  assure  her  of  our  very  high  appreciation  of 
the  great  honor  she  did  us  on  the  occasion  by  giving  us  her  presence, 
addressing  us,  and  the  beautiful  poem  read,  which  we  have  all  care- 
fully preserved.  '  May  God's  richest  blessings  attend  her  through 
life  and  a  crown,  bedecked  with  a  million  stars,  be  hers  on  reaching 
the  shining  shore,"1  is  repeated  every  week  by  thousands  of  ex-soldiers 
who  read  your  paper  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  this  united 
land  of  ours." 

The  distinguished  poet,  Henry  W.  Longfellow,  in  writing  of  the 
poem  "Unknown,"  says:  "No  wonder  the  poem  touched  the  hearts 
of  its  hearers. ' ' 


The  Washington  Star  says  : 

"The  beautiful  poem  '  Unknown,'  delivered  at  Arlington  Cemetery 
on  Decoration  Day,  by  its  author,  Emily  Thornton  Charles,  was  the 
feature  of  the  occasion." 

On  this  occasion  the  Post  said  : 

"  Her  distinct  utterance,  well-modulated  voice,  and  impressive 
manner  of  reading  bring  out  more  clearly  the  beautiful  thoughts  in 
her  poems." 

EVERY  MEMBER  OF  THE  G.  A.  R.  SHOULD  HAVE  IT. 

A  prominent  member  of  the  G.  A.  R.  says:  '-'The  poems,  'Un- 
known' and  'Arlington,'  are  superb  and  beautiful." 

"Decoration  Day  was  generally  observed.  The  demonstration  at 
Arlington  National  Cemetery  was  grand.  One  of  the  most  interest- 
ing features  of  the  programme  was  the  reading  of  an  original  and 
beautiful  poem,  entitled  'Unknown,'  by  the  author,  Emily  Thornton 
Charles,  ( Emily  Hawthorne, )  at  the  tomb  where  rest  the  remains  of 
seven  thousand  heroes  whose  names  have  been  lost  to  history." — 
Chicago  Express. 

"  The  Union  Veteran  Corps,  of  Washington  City,  paid  a  most  dis- 
tinguished honor  to  Mrs.  Emily  T.  Charles,  of  the  World  and  Soldier, 
by  electing  her  an  honorary  member- of  that  organization.  This  evi- 
dence of  appreciation  of  her  poetic  tributes,  recited  at  Arlington,  and 
her  editorial  labors  in  behalf  of  the  veterans  of  the  war,  is  not  only 
extremely  gratifying  to  the  lady,  but  encourages  her  to  wield  her  pen 
still  more  powerfully  in  the  defense  of  the  rights  of  soldiers  in  the 
field  of  the  soldiers'  newspaper." — Cincinnati  Commercial. 

"Mrs.  Emily  Thornton  Charles,  of  the  World  and  Soldier,  addressed 
the  ex-prisoners  of  war  at  the  Grand  National  Soldiers'  and  Sailors' 
Reunion  at  Lafayette,  Indiana,  September  22,  and  the  G.  A.  R.  camp 
fire,  she  being  a  guest  of  the  G.  A.  R." — Washington  Critic. 

"Mrs.  Emily  Thornton  Charles,  the  associate  editor  of  the  Wash- 
ington World,  and  a  native  of  Indiana,  (she  is  the  well-known  poetess,) 
will  be  invited  to  attend  the  Soldiers'  Reunion  as  the  guest  of  the 
Grand  Army.  She  will  recite  a  poem  written  for  the  occasion." — 
Lafayette  Courier. 

Mrs.  Mary  E.  Kail,  correspondent  Cannotton  Gazette  says : 

' '  The  World  and  Soldier  is  one  of  the  most  popular  National 
papers,  and  its  associate  editor,  Mrs.  Emily  Thornton  Charles — better 
known  as  'Emily  Hawthorne' — has  not  only  endeared  herself  to  the 
soldier  element  of  the  country  by  the  able  manner  in  which  she  con- 
ducts the  paper,  but  her  beautiful  poems  which  she  read  at  Arlington 
have  given  her  a  reputation  that  will  live  when  her  low,  sweet  voice 
shall  no  longer  blend  with  the  voices  of  the  flowers  that  shall  be  scat- 
tered upon  the  grasses  of  our  dead  heroes. 

"Mrs.  C.  is   the  soldier's  daughter   and  sister,   and    is  well   able  to 


espouse  the  soldier's  cause  ;  and  it  is  indeed  a  fitting  tribute  to  the 
living  soldier  that  a  fair  and  lovely  woman  shall  control  the  press  for 
the  benefit  of  all  who  stood  by  the  flag  in  the  days  of  the  past  and  who 
now  delight  to  do  honor  to  the  stars  and  stripes  of  our  nation's  glory." 

Mrs.  Charles  read  her  poem,  "Reunion,"  in  Indianapolis,  at  the 
banquet  of  the  18th  Indiana  Regiment,  of  which  the  Herald,  of  that 
city,  said  : 

"At  the  Regimental  Reunion,  Mrs.  Charles  took  the  meeting  by 
storm  by  her  effective  reading  of  an  original  poem." 

She  was  then  elected  daughter  of  the  brigade  composed  of  the  8th 
and  1 8th  Regiments  and  first  battery  and  appointed  the  poet  of  the 
next  reunion,  which  occurred  at  Muncie,  in  1879. 

How  well  she  performed  the  duty  assigned  her  is  evidenced  by  the 
following  telegram  to  the  Indianapolis  Journal : 

"Mrs.  E.  T.  Charles  (Emily  Hawthorne)  delivered  a  beautiful  his- 
torical poem,  descriptive  of  Sherman's  march  to  the  sea,  from  the  bal- 
cony of  the  hotel,  to  the  Eighth  and  Eighteenth  Regiments  and  First 
Indiana  Battery,  which  were  drawn  up  in  line  on  the  street.  The 
volume  and  strength  of  her  voice  was  a  great  surprise  to  her  auditors, 
every  word  of  the  twenty-minute  poem  being  distinctly  audible  to  the 
large  assemblage." 

In  this  production  are  included  the  Battle  of  Opequan,  Cedar  Creek, 
Port  Gibson,  Siege  and  Fall  of  Vicksburg,  and  other  battle  poems. 
All  of  which  will  be  published  in  the  new  book  for  soldiers,  and  prove 
hoAv  truly  the  author  is  the  friend  of  the  veterans  of  the  war,  and  every 
veteran  should  send  for  her  new  book. 

PRESS  NOTICES. 

"They  who  watch  the  advance  of  our  literature  into  higher  planes 
of  achievement,"  says  the  Indianapolis  Sentinel,  "will  desire  to  see 
and  welcome  many  more  of  these  pearls  of  thought  from  the  ready 
pen  of  this  most  felicitous  writer,  'Emily  Hawthorne.'  " 

Hon.  Horace  P.  Biddle,  the  accomplished  scholar  and  lawyer,  says  : 
"Mrs.  Charles   has   a  fine   literary  taste,  fertile   imagination,  and  a 
true  poetical  genius — a  rare  combination  of  superior  faculties." 

A  western  magazine  says:  "Emily  Thornton  Charles  has  the  repu- 
tation of  doing  more  newspaper  work,  and  doing  it  well,  than  any 
woman  in  the  country." 

"She  is  a  ready  and  graceful  writer,  and  her  book  will  surely  be  a 
most  successful  publication." — Lafayette  Dispatch. 

"  Mrs.  E.  T.  Charles  has  delighted  the  reading  public  with  many 
a  well-written  article  and  soulful  poem." — Anna  Metz  Ryland,  editor 
New  York  Progress. 

The  Indianapolis  Sentinel  says  of  her  work:  "It  will  be  received 
with  favor  by  a  public  which  has  already  learned  to  love  the  name  of 
■Emily  Hawthorn.'  " 


Dr.  Wallis,  the  veteran  journalist  of  the  New  York  Herald,  pro- 
nounces the  World  and  Soldier,  while  under  the  management  of  Mrs. 
Charles,  "one  of  the  best  weeklies  in  the  country."  Coming  from 
such  a  source,  this  opinion  is  a  valuable  recognition  of  her  ability. 

The  Lafayette  (Ind.)  Jotimal  says  :  "Mrs.  Charles'  love  lyrics  and 
odes  possess  almost  as  great  fervor  and  delicacy  as  those  of  the  Latin 
poet  Horace.  She  is,  too,  most  versatile  in  her  methods,  and 
possesses  simplicity,  directness,  and  equipoise  added  to  that  felicity  of 
diction  indispensable  to  the  true  lyrist.  She,  an  enthusiast  not  alone 
in  her  devotion  to  lyric  music,  but  to  all  the  accessories  of  her  art,  to 
nature,  to  inspiration,  and  to  melody.  Her  poems  are  always  tinct- 
ured with  life,  joy,  and  buoyant  feeling.  She  is  the  poet  of  occasions. 
Some  of  her  -best  poetry  has  been  uttered  at  the  moment  and  when 
solicited  by  her  friends. ' ' 

"Mrs.  Charles  holds  one  of  the  most  responsible  positions  as  a  jour- 
nalist in  the  country.  Her  selections  are  witty,  refined,  and  instruct- 
ive ;   her  editorials,  pointed  and  wise." — Lafayette  Herald. 

"Wit  and  Wisdom,  published  in  New  York,  says.-  "Mrs.  Charles  is 
doing  some  excellent  editorial  work  on  the  World  and  Soldier  in 
Washington,  and  also  drops  into  poetry  occasionally,  whose  sentiment 
does  credit  to  her  head  and  heart." 

From  the  Cannotton  Gazette  :  "The  soldiers  and  their  friends 
may  well  be  proud  that  the  pen  of  a  woman  is  defending  their  best 
interests  without  regard  to  party  prejudice." 

Hon.  John  Caven,  mayor  of  Indianapolis,  says:  "Her  productions 
are  of  unusual  merit  and  beauty.    Splendid  subjects  exquisitely  treated. ' f 

"'Mrs.  Charles'  literary  work  shows  deep  thought,  and  her  well- 
directed  efforts  are  making  the  World  and  Soldier  a  most  successful 
newspaper.  She  is  a  delicate  little  body,  but  a  bright,  earnest  soul 
looks  out  from  her  eyes." — Burlington  Hawkeye. 

The  Kentucky  New  Era  says  :  "By  her  newspaper  work,  she  has 
won  a  large  circle  of  friends  and  admirers." 


THE    WORLD    AND    SOLDIER. 

THE    BEST  NATIONAL   SOLDIERS'  PAPER  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 


GET   A   COPY    FREE. 


For  any  of  the  above  publications  address — 

E.  T.  CHARLES  &  CO., 

P.  O.  Box  643,  Washington,  D.  C. 


EVERY  SOLDIER  SHOULD  HAVE  THE  BEAUTIFUL 

WAR    CHART! 


OR 


SOLDIER'S  RECORD. 

A  handsome  steel   engraving,   24  by    26   inches  in   size,  the   design 
being  symbolical  of  the  experience  of  the 

NATIONAL    SOLDIER. 


In  the  handsome  picture  are  emblems  as  follows : 

The  upper  corner-pieces  represent  War,  on  land  and  sea. 

The  lower  corner-pieces  represent  Peace,  on  land  and  sea. 

The  Union,  in  letters  of  solid  oak,  held  by  the  Eagle,  with  the  sun  at  meridian,  represents  the  Re- 
public restored  to  its  full  splendor  and  power. 

The  chain  anchored  to  the  scroll  means  the  Union  clinging  to  the  Constitution  as  the  Rock  of 
Safety;  each  link  on  a  side  is  a  State. 

The  two  females  on  each  side  of  photograph  represents  that  Heaven  views  with  favor  and  country 
yields  her  gratitude  to  the  soldier  by  crowning  him  with  laurel  wreaths. 

The  scroll  sn  left  is  space  for  recording  enlistment,  promotion,  etc.,  with  naked  sword  declaring  a 
readiness  for  war. 

The  book  on  right  is  space  for  recording  discharge,  wounds,  etc.,  with  sheathed  sword,  the  end  ot 
war.  < 

The  soldier  and  sailor  on  left,  reclining  on  bundle  of  sticks  banded  together,  and  treading  on  serpent, 
represents  the  restored  Union,  with  all  enemies  conquered. 

The  soldier  and  sailor  on  the  right  assisting  slave  to  rise,  represents  the  end  of  bondage.  Both  these 
pieces  represent  the  two  grand  results  of  the  War. 

The  monument  is  to  record  the  battles  engaged  in  by  the  soldier.  The  aged  man  is  history  direct- 
ing the  attention  of  posterity  to  the  deeds  of  patriots,  which  Time  fails  to  erase  or  despoil,  as  indicated 
by  his  discouraged  attitude  and  by  his  broken  mallet  and  chisel  lying  at  the  base  of  the  monument. 

The  girl  and  mermaid  holding  flags  represent  the  influence  of  America  on  land  and  sea. 

The  tomb  below  records  the  death  of  soldier,  either  in  battle  or  in  bed  at  home. 

The  females  are  typical  of  Decoration  Day. 

SEND 

75  CENTS  TO 

E.  T.  CHARLES  &   CO.,  P.  O.    BOX   643, 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 

AND  FULL  NAME,  DATE  AND  PLACE  OF  ENLISTMENT, 

COMPANY  AND  REGIMENT,  PROMOTION,  LIST 

OF  BATTLES,  TIME  AND  PLACE  OF 

DISCHARGE ;  OR  FOR  A 

DECEASED  COMRADE,  STATE  PLACE  AND  MANNER 

OF  DEATH. 

Soldiers^  Preserve  your  Record  as  a  Priceless  Treasure 

fcr  your  Children. 


A  PRICE-LIST. 


Life  of  Garfield. — Including  history  of  Guiteau.  Beautifully  illustrated ;  containing 
nearly  500  pages.     Complete  and  graphic.     The  best  out Price  $1.50 

Garfield's  Portrait. — With  his  autograph.  Fine  steel  engraving,  (nearly  life  size,) 
for  framing.  (During  the  Presidential  campaign,  Garfield  himself  pronounced  this 
the  best  likeness  of  himself  he  had  ever  seen.) Price  25  els. 

Fagots  from  the  Camp  Fire. — War  stories.  A  new  book.  Just  out.  True 
yet  wonderful.     For  every  soldier Price  75  cts. 

Battles  of  the  Rebellion. — Alphabetical  list  of  all  the  battles  fought,  giving 
number  engaged,  killed,  and  wounded  on  both  sides.  Same  of  War  of  Indepen- 
dence, all  wars  with  the  Indians,  Mexican  War,  (including  war  between  Texas  and 
Mexico,)  and  the  second  war  with  England,  Etc.,  Etc.  List  of  Presidents  and  much 
other  valuable  information ..,-. Price  50  cts. 

Dr.  Kendall's  Horse  Book. — 75th  Edition.  Complete  book  on  the  Horse  and 
his  diseases.  The  best  book  of  the  kind  ever  published.  Nothing  wanting.  Nearly 
2,000,000  sold Price  50  cts. 

Roof  and  Side  Wall  Painting. — A  book  of  valuable  instructions  and  receipts, 
complete  on  this  subject.   Something  every  house-holder  should  have. ..Price  25  cts. 

U.  S.  Blue-Book. — Compiled  from  official  sources.  Every  citizen  should  have 
this  book  of  Government  information  on  offices,  salary,  time,  etc.  A  concise,  reliable 
history '. Price  75  cts. 

Soldiers  War  Chart. — Fine  engraving  designed  for  framing.  Preserve  your  war 
record.  A  new  thing,  just  out.  By  an  old  soldier.  For  every  soldier,  sailor  or  their 
heirs  Price  75  cts. 

Army  and  Navy  Pensions. — Sth  Edition.  Book  form.  All  information  relating 
to  pensions.     Compiled  from  official  sources Price  25  cts. 

Bounty  Manual. — Book  form.  All  information  relative  to  bounties.  Com- 
piled from  official  sources , Price  25  cts. 

Soldiers  Homestead. — 3d  Edition.  Book  form.  All  the  land  laws  and  much 
other  valuable  information.     Compiled  from  official  sources Price  25  cts. 

Views  of  Washington. — Arlington,  Mt.  Vernon,  Soldiers'  Home,  Etc.,  Etc. 
Large  size  single  copies  for  framing,  each  25  cts.  All  together,  (smaller  size,)  in 
book  form,  with  description,  50  cents. 

Besides  all  the  popular  books,  periodicals,  portraits,  etc.     {Send  for  free  list.) 

Send  for  further  particulars  if  you  desire  any  of  these  articles.  In  sending  for 
Soldiers'  War-Chart  Record,  send  for  blanks  to  fill  out  your  record  on;  which 
return  with  order.  Send  all  money  by  P.  O.  Money-Order  or  Registered  Letter. 
Avoid  sending  stamps  when  possible  ;  but  if  necessary,  send  one-cent  stamps.  Our 
goods  sent  to  any  address  on  receipt  of  price. 

AGENTS  WANTED  in  every  Town  and  City  in  the  United  States. 

Send  for  confidential  terms  to  agents,  and  enclose  stamp  for  reply. 

Address  HAZELRIGG,  CHARLES  &  Co., 

Box  291,  Washington,  D.  C. 


,OOK«^KR'rH     0.  c 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


E605 
.D94 


